


The Chronicles of a Spin Doctor

by springburn



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bad Decisions, Building Relationship, Business Trip, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hotel Sex, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:<br/>Malcolm and Sam are at the airport to go to a conference, the flight is delayed and they are forced to find a hotel......trouble is there's only one room left......</p><p>I've changed the prompt slightly, making them on their way home from the conference rather than going to it. It ties in with previous stories I've written, chiefly 'Pulling an All Nighter.' And 'Pint Pot Judas'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Room at the Inn.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an AU of my AU!!!! 
> 
> This takes place just before Malcolm's demise at the hands of Steve Fleming. Although I haven't written it before, because I always maintained in my head that there was no real relationship in the work place......but do you know what? It's AU.......and ANYTHING can happen!! His reaction when the jackals surrounded Sam, made me feel that there maybe HAD been something between them......his protective instinct came straight to the fore, despite himself. 
> 
> This will probably form a complete story. The first part being the actual prompt, the rest being what happens when they return to the rigours of 'normal' life. I'll leave it open so that if you like the story arc or I want to add more stories to it, I can.

PART ONE.

NO ROOM AT THE INN.

 

Malcolm fastened his bow tie and regarded himself critically in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him dolefully.  
It was the final evening of a four day conference in Washington DC.  
He and Sam had attended many such conferences before, but this was the first where they'd travelled out of Europe and definitely the first in the States.  
Malcolm had gone in his capacity as Tom's wing man, his Director of Communications, in charge of the press junkets, the interviews, the meetings and all the accompanying hype.  
It was almost a last minute decision to ask Sam. 

Four days working practically cheek by jowl, with her, and this only weeks after the all nighter fiasco and his following monumental cock up after the Trade and Industry Secretary's meeting.....where he'd royally fucking upset her......said or done something wrong.......he could see the hurt in her eyes now.....she'd been close to blubbing......he knew it.....he saw it.......Fuck it all! 

That was a situation he still had not properly addressed, after Jamie's resignation, it had been so manic, everything was left hanging.  
Unresolved.  
Fuck if Malcolm knew what to do about it.  
She was his PA, had been for a long time.  
Couldn't do without her, knew him better than he did himself.  
Bollocking bollocks! But she was such a lovely girl, he wasn't even sure when he'd first started to think differently about her. Now he found himself with little fantasies of her in his mind.....but that was where they firmly remained.  
In his mind.  
Fantasies.  
It wasn't to be.  
He was her boss.  
No relationships in the workplace......his strictest rule.  
But he had to admit, just lately it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.  
The all nighter had been the clincher.....waking to find himself holding her close....as he'd wanted to do for a long time. Feeling so fucking guilty. She, so flustered and embarrassed, and that look on her face......what the fuck was that?  
He'd never seen her look at him like that before.  
Then she'd kissed him goodnight, on a whim, flushed, breathless, like she was sure it was going to be the start of something.....  
Shit.  
What a fucking mess. 

 

oOo

 

The bow tie was fine. He'd do.  
Looked good in a tux.  
Though he said so himself.  
This was the final evening.  
The yanks certainly knew how to put on a bash.  
Gala dinner dance. Black tie. The great and the good.  
Malcolm hated these social things, a necessary evil.  
Part of the job.  
Oh, well......one more night then it was flight home and back to number 10 and back to some semblance of normality.  
He hoped.  
Or did he?  
He and his PA would not be in quite such close proximity and not thousands of miles from home. 

Focus Malcolm for fucks sake. 

He'd arranged to meet her in the bar for a drink beforehand.  
Arriving before her, he ordered himself a scotch and perched on a bar stool .  
Never a big drinker, he probably would be on fruit juice from here on in, but he needed a snifter to set himself up for the long tedious evening ahead.  
A woman across the room with her back to him, caught his attention.  
Supremely elegant, beautiful curvy figure, a long black chiffon gown, with a cut away sleeve ending in a beaded mandarin style choker neck, heels, hair piled into glossy brunette curls.  
Malcolm was captivated.  
Then she turned and came towards him.

Sam.

Fucking fuck me! He whispered under his breath. 

Lost.  
He was lost. 

Never had he imagined in his wildest dreams, that she could look so stunning.  
Speechless.  
The great Malcolm Tucker.  
Tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.  
Mute admiration. 

She reached his side.  
Flashed him a smile.  
Toast.  
He was fucking toast. 

Later, they danced.  
Malcolm Tucker didn't dance.  
Tonight he fucking well did.  
Holding her, his hand resting at the curve of her back, the other hand held in his, as he propelled her round the floor.  
Mesmerised.  
Completely fucking undone.  
Couldn't remember what he'd said to her, load of bullshit probably.  
Meaningless babble.  
Incoherent.  
She smiled indulgently, made small talk.  
If you'd asked him at the end of the night, who else was there, or who he'd spoken to, he wouldn't be able to tell you.  
No idea.  
Never took his eyes off her, not for a second. 

Into the lift at the end of the night......up to the fourth floor, then outside her room door. Side by side.  
Shoulders touching.  
"Night Malcolm. Thank you for the dances. It was a lovely evening."  
His mouth was dry. He was a fucking gibbering mess.  
He kissed her hand, like the fucking dumb fool that he was, bought it to his lips and kissed it.  
"You were the most beautiful woman in the room." He whispered, and he meant it.  
She blushed, smiled a coquettish smile.  
"See you in the morning. Early. Flight's at ten."  
And she was gone.  
He stood, alone in the hallway, blinking like a owl in the sunlight.  
What the fuck could he do now?  
He was done for. 

 

oOo

 

"Fucking hell!"  
He stood, in the concourse, his wheelie suitcase at his feet like a stray dog.  
Glaring up at the display board.  
Cancelled. Cancelled. Delayed. Delayed.  
"No flights out today, Malcolm.....I've checked at the concierge.....there's a flight to Dublin lunchtime tomorrow, I've got us on that, only first class left.....so we'll have to slum it!"  
She smirked, "then we can get a connection to London City airport but no direct flights to Gatwick or Heathrow till tomorrow evening at the earliest. Complete security lock down."  
"Fuck it. There won't be a hotel room to be had....we'd better see if we can find somewhere. I'll be buggered if I'm sleeping the night here, on a bench seat.......come on.....lets go find something." 

The diffident receptionist did not succumb to Malcolm's charm offensive.  
She was sorry but she could not manufacture a room out of thin air.  
There was a room left......just the one.....did he want it or not?  
Yes he did. 

It was a large room at least. With a big bed and an arm chair.  
A desk and chair, and an en suite.  
Could be worse.  
Malcolm threw down his laptop case and coat.  
Rubbing his hands through his hair.  
Sam, following in his wake, stowed her case and sat down on the edge of the bed.  
"You can have the bed. I'll kip here." Malcolm gestured to the armchair.  
Sam frowned, but said nothing. 

An hour later, Malcolm was propped against the headboard, shoes off, in his socks, jacket and tie off, shirt sleeves rolled up.  
Computer balanced across his legs, tapping away conscientiously.  
Sam was seated at the desk, also without shoes, busily checking emails.  
"For fucks sake! Does it never fucking stop? 54 emails!" Malcolm groaned.  
"Leave anything that's not urgent....I'll sort through those." She replied, without looking up.  
"Okay, I've gone over the economic forecast figures for the Home Secretary's press meeting when.......IF, we get back, I can't really do any more with that now." He rubbed his eyes.  
"Sam, order in some food, yeah? On expenses. I'm fucking starving. If I'm going to spend all this fucking day working my arse off in this crummy room, instead of kipping on my flight home, they can bloody well pay for my dinner!" 

Seated on the bed, food boxes spread in front of them like two kids in the dorm having a midnight feast, they tucked in.  
"Do you want that last bit, or can I have it?"  
"Fuck.....you have it.....you need the nutrition more than I."  
"Are you saying I'm a pig? Just because you have the appetite of an anorexic sparrow."  
She nabbed the last triangle of pizza from under his hand with a cheeky grin.  
"Malcolm, you've got mozzarella on your shirt."  
"Oh, for fucks sake!"  
She rose, holding out her hand.  
"Give it here.....I'll sponge it."  
Malcolm immediately made to unbutton himself.  
Then stopped. Looking up at her, he coloured.  
Then shrugged.  
"Fuck it. Leave it. I don't care."  
Sam huffed, shrugged her shoulders dismissively.  
"Fine! Suit yourself." 

The afternoon wore into evening.  
Sam yawned and stretched, craning her head from side to side.  
"Ow!"  
Malcolm looked up from his keyboard.  
"What's the matter?"  
"I've got a really bad stiff shoulder, from sitting at this damn desk, it's gone into spasm."  
With a sigh, Malcolm set his laptop aside and scooting off the bed, crossed towards her.  
"Show me, where?"  
She held her hair away from her neck, exposing her milky skin to his gaze.  
"Just there." She placed her hand over the offending spot.  
Malcolm's long fingers searched for the knot, and began to massage it, gently at first, then with more power.  
"Left a bit.....mmmmm! Yeah....that's it.....right there.....aww! Bugger, that's sore!"  
She leaned into his touch, with a sigh.  
The feel of her under his hand....Malcolm felt a jolt in his groin.  
Fuck.  
Stop Malcolm! Now!  
"There.....that'll do you."  
He ceased abruptly and returned to the bed. Hiding behind his screen, flustered as an adolescent schoolboy.  
'Fuck it all Malcolm, you've got it really bad', he thought. 

oOo

"Malcolm, the bed is huge.....we can share it.......it's stupid to sleep in that chair. I trust you."  
Her boss grimaced.  
"But do I trust myself?" He replied awkwardly, half serious, half joking. 

Emerging from the bathroom in pyjama bottoms and a t shirt, he crawled gratefully beneath the covers.  
He was tired, but his body and brain felt strangely alive.  
Tingly, nervous.  
Fuck it all, this was going to be the worst night ever. 

Sam was dressed in shorts and a camisole.  
Malcolm kept his gaze firmly averted from her breasts.  
Tapping even more fervently at his keyboard, as she joined him, propping herself up on pillows.  
He turned his head to find her watching him intently.  
"What?" He frowned, coy, under her scrutiny.  
"This is a side of you I never really see.....the relaxed Malcolm."  
He laughed.  
"Relaxed! Ha! Joke! How fucking relaxed am I? About as relaxed as a bow string."  
"Why? Why are you so tense then? Is it because of this?" She waved her hand expansively, her sweep taking in the two of them and the bed.  
"Well, what do you fucking think? I'm sharing a bed with my bloody PA.....not the fucking best idea I've ever had........who last night I realised was probably the hottest woman on the planet, and I'm her fucking boss and I can't do anything about it. So yeah.....not relaxed!"  
Sam smiled and edged herself a little closer. She removed his hands from the laptop and closed it down. Taking it from him and setting it aside.  
"Really?" She said softly.  
"Really what?" He replied, swallowing hard.  
"You really think I'm the hottest woman on the planet?"  
"Without a fucking doubt Sam......no contest.....but I have rules, and I have to stick to them....you know that."  
"No relationships in the workplace....I know.....you have mentioned it once or twice." 

His eyes focused on her mouth, he swallowed again, and fidgeted.  
"Well, it's a good rule. Keeps me out of a world of trouble."  
"But we're not in the workplace now, we're thousands of miles from home and we're here, in this bed......together."  
She leaned a little closer.  
"Fuck it all Sam.....there's nothing I'd like more.....please believe me.....but it's just fucking madness yeah?........the worst thing we could possibly do. Surely you can see that?"  
"Who's going to know?"  
"I'll fucking know! You'll fucking know!" He cried, "Sam....I respect you too much for you to be some quick shag in a hotel room. It's not fair on either of us."  
"I'm nobody's quick shag Malcolm......and nor are you."  
Malcolm threw up his hands in exasperation.  
"But we can't carry on any form of relationship at Number 10! Think of it Sam. It's fucking impossible. It would be suicidal. We're friends aren't we? I like to think we are anyway. Not just boss and PA?"  
"Of course." She sat back a little.  
"Right! Well that would go straight down the swanny......wouldn't it? If anything went wrong....or someone found out, or worse....it got in the papers, its just fucking impossible Sam. Trust me, it fucking sucks, because I would give my left bollock to kiss you now.....but it's just fucking mental. You're a bright woman.....one of the brightest, and you and I both know, it can't work."

"Well, I'll have to resign then. Not work for you anymore."  
"WHAT? Fuck no! You're the only sodding thing that keeps me sane in this whole shag show of a mess that I deign to call my life. You're not going to fucking quit on me. Don't you dare!"  
"Then what are we to do? Because, I want to kiss you, very very badly indeed, and I know that you would like to kiss me. I can be the soul of discretion Malcolm, you know that.  
I would not allow anything of any relationship that we may have to enter Number Ten. It would be strictly out of office only.....no fondles behind the bike sheds, no quickies in the pantry. If we were together it would be at your place or mine, and if we were seen out and about then there would be nothing intimate to see, no pap fodder. Nothing. It would be hard, certainly, but we could make it work. If you really wanted to try."

Her face was fearful, had she betrayed too much too soon?  
He was right of course.....they would not be able to hide it for long, it would get out eventually and there would be hell to pay, for both of them.  
Malcolm swung his legs sideways and sat on the edge of the bed, his back towards her.  
Head in his hands.  
"Oh fuck it all, Sam. This is what I've been afraid of. Don't you see? Ever since the all nighter. It's what I've been avoiding because I was too fucking cowardly to face the truth. I suspected you felt this way....I knew it because I feel it too. But I was right at the Trade meeting.....it was a fucking monumental mistake, falling asleep like that......it was lovely, but it was just.....WRONG. I'm sorry, but it was.....  
When you kissed me goodnight, I was sure......you were hoping it might lead to more, and it scared the crap out of me. Because I could see the whole thing going majorly tits up. And we'd end up bloody hating each other. Because my fucking job just chews you up and spits you out and takes you up every fucking orifice.....and it doesn't leave room for anything else. It destroys lives, blunts happiness. It broke my marriage, it's broken me, and countless others. I'm sorry Sam. Buts that's just the way it is. It's a non starter." 

The sound of a sniff, alerted him, and he turned swiftly, his stomach giving a lurch.  
She was kneeling, in the centre of the bed, behind him, her head bowed, shoulders shaking, her hands to her face.  
She sobbed as if her heart would break. He was pretty sure his own would to.....if he still possessed one, and up until yesterday, he didn't really think he did.  
"Oh.....God! Fuck it all Sam. Please. Oh Christ! Please don't cry.....please. I'm a selfish heartless bastard, I know.....but I'm trying to think of you....I am really. Oh for fucks sake, my dear girl, come here."  
He held his arms out to her, she looked at him for a second, her cheeks streaked with hot tears, more coursing down, as she searched his face, trying to read what she saw there.  
Crawling close to him he enveloped her in a warm embrace, rocking her, hushing her, kissing the top of her head, stroking his hand through her hair.  
Her body juddering still, she melted into him, arms folded inwards, next to her body, head against his chest, her tears soaking his t shirt.  
"I'm sorry Malcolm. I'm so sorry. I'm not being very professional right now! I know it! But I can't help it. I just can't. It's stupid. I'm stupid. God!! Dammit. It hurts, it hurts so much."  
She wept anew.

His arms released her slightly, moving her away from his body, so that he could look at her. His hands came to either side of her cheeks, thumbs brushing away the wetness.  
His face inches from her own.  
"Shit. Sam. Why do you have to be so fucking beautiful? Why? Eh?" His voice was cracked, a rasp, thick with emotion.  
The steely blue of his eyes pierced her own, his gaze flicking from there to her lips and back again.  
His head bent slowly, his mouth brushing hers.....at the very first hint of their touch, she gasped, her breath stolen from her.  
Hands tugging her face closer to him, the warmth and sweetness and the scent of him making her senses scream.  
"Malcolm! Oh God!" She murmured into his mouth.  
In a second his kiss turned desperate, pulling at her lower lip, clutching her to him, a whimper left her as he groaned with need. Deepening and strengthening, his tongue, testing, searching, seeking entrance.  
She opened to him, letting him in, tasting him, feeling him gently lowering her backwards, onto the centre of the bed, twisting himself round and following her, his body partly over her own.  
"This is fucking madness.....madness." He whispered, as he broke the strong connection for want of air, peppering her cheeks, her mouth, her chin, with little kisses, "we'll regret it.....we fucking will. Oh......fuck.......God help me, Sam!"  
He moaned, as she began to stroke his back, pushing her hands up under his shirt, feeling the lean tautness of his shoulder blades and spine.  
Exposing her neck to him, she allowed him to roam freely with lips and tongue, down her pulse point, her collarbones. Pulling down the fabric of her top to reveal her breasts.  
She looked down to see his mouth close over her nipple, drawing it in and suckling it, causing her to cry out, arch her back and writhe with pleasure.  
"Jesus! Malcolm!"  
There was an urgency in Malcolm now, a desperation, a need for fulfilment, for completion. As if he'd held all this back for so long and now he must see it through, his whole body quivered with the pent up excitement.  
He undressed her slowly, delicately, pulling his own shirt over his head.

Christ...when was the last time he'd got his leg over? He could barely remember, before his divorce probably, and maybe one crazy night when he and Jamie got drunk and his friend procured them couple of girls......that had been a mistake too. Big mistake. Narrowly avoided the papers. 

Hands roaming now, Sam gasped and moved beneath him, whimpering and keening at his every touch and caress.  
His cock so hard, straining against the material of his pyjama bottoms, balls aching.  
A forefinger circling almost lazily between her legs, then moving himself down her naked body gradually, with his mouth, to finally taste her.  
"Stop, Malcolm.....no!" she managed to cry out, he raised his head, questioning, his eyes locked on hers, his mouth wet,  
"You'll make me come......please.....I want you......" She could barely articulate, so far gone was she, so she pulled up on his shoulders in an effort to raise him again.  
Obeying her pleas, he crawled back up her body and recaptured her mouth, letting her taste herself from his lips.  
She reached down between them to free him from the fabric of his trousers and stroke his length with her small hand.  
"Holy fuck Sam."  
Pressing against her, trapping her fingers to still the movement, as she could feel the wetness already coming from him.  
"Malcolm, make love to me.......for gods sake.....please......I need to feel you inside me now....."  
She moved herself under him, parting her legs, inviting him to take her.  
"Fuck Sam.....you're so fucking lovely yeah?.....just fucking gorgeous, right now."  
Taking his own body weight on his arms, he positioned himself above her, pushing himself into her body with a great heaved sigh.  
Looking down on her as he set a rhythm, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in, watching her all the time.  
Her eyes closed, mouth open, raising her hips as she gasped against each of his measured thrusts,  
"Come for me Sam, come for me darling, I want to see you." He groaned, as he quickened the pace.  
His words had the desired effect and her climax pulsed through her, carrying him over the edge in her wake, as he spilled himself inside her, giving her all of him, uttering a cry of release as he did so.  
Before collapsing forwards against her chest, so that she could hold him close, kissing his face and neck and ears as the last throes died away and their bodies stilled.  
They lay for several minutes, breath slowing, the sweat from their combined bodies mingling and drying.  
Neither attempted to move.  
Eventually he rolled to the side, softened now, and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.  
"Forgive me Sam. Fuck......what have I done?"  
She pulled herself over him, head resting against his chest, her arm across his body.  
"You've just made me a very happy woman. That's what you've done."  
Malcolm pushed her away, and sat up, leaning forward and bringing his hands up to his face.  
Emotion overtook him and he began to weep.  
It was such a strange and alien sound coming from him, and Sam was moved deeply by it.  
"This is the fucking end. I'm a cunt. Nothing but a cunt. I've just ruined everything."  
"Excuse me, but I was there too......it was both of us, not just you.....Malcolm, it's not the end. It's the beginning. Tell me that you don't want more of this? Tell me?"  
He raised his damp eyes to look at her, she moved across and straddled his body, kneeling up, her legs either side of him.  
Bare breasts against his chest, the wetness from their recent love against his groin.  
She took his cheeks in her hands and kissed him tenderly.  
"Of course I fucking do! I'm in love with you for crying out loud! There! I've fucking said it. Now you know I'm a cunt!"  
"Oh, Malcolm! I love you more than I can possibly say, I have done for ages. Kiss me.....please."  
His face wet, he pressed his lips to hers once more, and lowered himself gently back, she, still astride him, leaning over him, capturing his mouth over and over again, whispering his name.  
"How can we do this? How can we possibly make it work?" He breathed, between her ministrations.  
"We'll find a way Malcolm, we'll MAKE it work. And no one will know."  
"But how can I see you EVERY day, how can I look you in the eye and not imagine you like this? How you look above me, now, you're so fucking beautiful Sam, and I'll just want to kiss you and touch you all the bloody time.......I'm going to have a constant fucking boner!  
I'm fucking doomed.....you hear me......doomed."  
Sam chuckled, smoothing her hands down his arms and round to his back, such a soft and gentle movement.  
"You're going to have to learn to control yourself, Tiger, as am I!! It's not going to be easy Malc, but we can do this. We don't bring it into the office, okay? It stays outside. In office hours, you are my boss, just as you've always been and I am your PA......when we go home.....well.....that's OUR time."  
"Oh.....Fuck! Fuck! I just fucking want you......Jesus! Sam, I hope this fucking works out, because I tell you, I've never felt about anyone, the way I feel about you right now, and if we blow our chance because of working together in this maelstrom, I'll never forgive myself. Never."  
"We'll have to be sure to make it work Malcolm."  
"That's easy for you to say.......but I'm buggered here. I've just made love to the only woman I'm ever going to make love to, from now on......holy shit....I've been around the block a few times Sam.....I've seen love come and go.....but this is it for me......all she wrote. It's you or no one......sorry if I'm dropping a lump of concrete on your head, but I've felt it for a long time. That's why I was so fucking terrified of going down this route. Once I was on that roller coaster there was no getting off.....not for me.......you're younger, can always start afresh.....but this is me done.  
Malcolm Tucker has left the fucking building."  
Tears began to fall again, leaking out from under his eyelashes as the enormity of his own words hit him.  
"Malcolm, look at me......" She raised his face, fingers under his chin, "I love you. You're the one for me. I've always known it. Now you've just made me completely sure. We won't always work together, neither of us know what is around the corner. A month in politics is like a year. Anything can happen. While we work together, we carry on. Just as we've always done. Down the line, who's to say what might happen? But we'll be together, from now on. Somehow, someway......always. I know it. I feel it."  
Her hands moved down his chest, between their two bodies, touching him, bringing him to hardness again, then sliding herself over him, taking him fully, allowing him room to thrust up into her, his eyes open at first, then screwing tightly shut as he rapidly neared completion again, balls contracting, the muscles and sinews in his throat and neck tightening with the effort, as he shot his load deep within her once more. 

Morning found them, in a tangled mass of sheets, their legs wrapped around each other, faces inches apart, arms entwined.  
How would they ever be able to pull this off, once they reached home?


	2. Buttering No Parsnips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and Sam have returned from the conference, having declared their love.....stormy and difficult times lie ahead......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a nightmare......since I wrote it and was pleased with it, then the document site crashed and I lost practically the whole thing and had to rewrite it!! It's not as good as it was, and for that I apologise.....
> 
> There is more to this story, I'm certain, even I want to know what happens next!!

PART TWO.

BUTTERING NO PARSNIPS.

"The fasten seat belt sign is now switched on. Please return to your seats in preparation for take-off."

Malcolm leaned his head against the back rest and closed his eyes.  
Blowing out his cheeks.  
Sam reached across and gave his hand a little reassuring squeeze.  
He turned to look at her, and the expression on his face floored her.  
His forehead furrowed with a deep anxiety, a little perspiration on his top lip, was it fear?  
Pupils dilated, cheeks grey and colourless.  
He looked desperate, frightened and very vulnerable indeed.  
His iron mask had slipped, the walls he built to protect himself, crashing down.  
Typical of the man, she thought.  
Now he'd opened his thoughts and feelings to her, and there was no going back for him.  
The same vigour with which he flung himself into his work, he would now fling in to her, to them.  
No holds barred, all or nothing.  
He would give himself totally, just as he always did with everything.  
Sam had become accustomed to his self inflicted martyrdom.  
Denial. Self flagellation.  
A punishing schedule, always demanding more of himself.  
He denied himself food, went hungry all the time.  
Denied himself sleep, sometimes staying awake for 36 hours, working constantly, until he could barely stand, he had virtually no social life.  
He denied himself love too, burned so many times, but now he'd acknowledged it, it would consume him, like a raging inferno.  
"Malcolm. It's okay. You okay?"  
He nodded. It was unconvincing.  
He looked drained, wrung out, nervous and emotional.  
The revelations of the past twenty four hours laying heavy on his brow. 

 

oOo

They barely had time to return to their homes, shower and catch a few hours sleep, before they were both back in the office.  
The security melt down which had caused the cancellation of flights, was creating mayhem.  
There were questions to be answered, repercussions. A serious breach.  
The press and media were baying for statements, all hell seemed to have broken lose.  
Coupled with the fact that Tom was due to appear on Question Time and Malcolm had to brief him and thoroughly go over everything he was likely to have to say, and not say, and prepare him for any possible curve balls he might be thrown.  
There would be no going home tonight, or the next night.  
Sam managed to sneak out for a couple of hours, to change into fresh clothes.  
She bought Malcolm in a suit, which she'd taken to the dry cleaners before they left for America, and popped into T M Lewin to buy him a shirt and tie, and some underwear and socks.  
He could at least have a shower at Number Ten, and put on clean things.  
Knocking lightly, she entered his office.  
Mobile practically fastened to the side of his head, he was trying to type on his blackberry simultaneously.  
His desk a sea of mess.  
Like the wreck of the Hesperus.  
As soon as he hung up, the phone immediately trilled again.  
Sam hung the suit on the picture rail and took the shirt out of its bag and began to unwrap it.  
His conversation now a string of expletives, she held the shirt up against herself, and silently asked him...."you like?" with one eyebrow raised questioningly.  
He nodded and gave her the thumbs up.  
Miming drinking from a cup and saucer to him, he nodded emphatically again, and she disappeared. 

Later that evening, when things had quietened down, and she knew he would be sitting alone watching Tom's television appearance, she took him in a plate of food, some cutlery and a napkin from the pantry.  
Legs up on the couch, he watched the screen with rapt attention.  
He looked up as she entered.  
"Dimbleby's giving him a hard time, but he's doing okay." He observed. "What's this?"  
"Lasagne from the restaurant down the road......eat it, Malcolm. You've had practically nothing all day."  
He sat up, swinging his legs round, half an eye still on the television, the other regarding her, meaningfully.  
"God, Sam, I'm so fucking knackered. And I really need to kiss you." He stood up and moved towards her, but she backed away.  
"Not here. Not in your office. Cameras Malcolm.....everywhere."  
He sighed, took the plate and resumed his seat.  
"I'm going home after the programme finishes......you coming? Its Friday and I need to get out of this fucking office. I need my own bed and a proper wash. I need a lie in tomorrow and no work."  
"Sounds like heaven!" 

An hour later, with Question Time successfully put to bed, and the phone calls that Malcolm needed to make in the wake of it, completed.  
He called for the car.  
His driver often dropped the two of them home, occasionally both at Malcolm's place, when they'd worked late together, and consequently, thought it nothing out of the ordinary.  
Malcolm opened his front door and ushered her inside.  
No sooner had it shut behind him, than he was on her, pulling her into him, his mouth assaulting her own, a long, deep and desperate kiss. His hand at the back of her head, his body pressed against hers, as she leaned against his door.  
"Oh, fuck! Sam I've wanted to do that......ALL FUCKING DAY! Look at me, feel me.....I'm going mental here, out of my fucking mind." His breathing was erratic and shallow.  
She could feel his insistent arousal, see the tell tale bulge of his trousers, his mouth hot and forceful against her own.  
In moments they were up the stairs, fumbling with each other's clothes, tumbling into bed, each craving the touch of the other.  
Raw, unadulterated passion, a rush to fulfilment.  
Afterwards he fell back, sated, spent from the exertion, as she clung to him, like a limpet to a rock, holding him close, saying his name. Protestations of love, desire, lust, culminating in completion and gratification for both of them.  
Laying together, locked in each others arms.  
Malcolm sighed, content at last.  
"God! I needed that!"  
"I love you Malcolm Tucker. You make me feel so loved, so wanted. It's not something I've ever experienced before, not really, if I'm honest. It's different with you. Completely different."  
"You realise if you ever tire of me and dump me, I'm completely fucked......don't you? Up a gum tree. It scares the shit out of me."  
"Just as well I'm in this for the long haul then! I'm not going anywhere in a hurry!"  
He nuzzled against her then, rubbing his head against her side like a cat, almost purring with satisfaction.  
"Fuck! Sam. I've no idea why you're here, or why you want me but I'm grateful that you do. For as long as you do."  
"Malcolm! Don't be grateful! That's not the idea......I don't want your gratitude.....I'm in love with you, and you deserve to be loved. You have a heart of gold. I see it every day. When you speak to the cleaning lady, and ask after her kids, and you remember their names, when you think no ones looking and you put flowers on my desk. Why do you think that you're not worth loving, and you find it so hard to believe I do? Why would you not be deserving?"  
"Because it's never happened before Sam. Every time I've given myself over to it, it's been chucked back in my face. Until I've just given up. It hardens you. Makes you wary. Fuck, I don't know if I deserve it.....but I want it though, so very much."  
"Takes you a long time to trust?"  
"Yeah. I guess."  
She stroked a finger down his cheek.  
"Well, take all the time you need, I'll still be here. Loving you. Wanting you."  
"You've got me Sam, all of me. So help me. Every bit of my worthless hide."  
"Then I'll take it, gladly."  
He turned her, caressing her body with his hands, feeling her against him, savouring the scent of her, everything that made her essentially HER.  
"Let's not eat out. Let's stay here."  
"Malcolm! I'm hungry.....am I not to be fed?"  
"I'll cook for us, if there's one thing I can do, it's cook. I've had plenty of practice."

An hour later they sat opposite each other in his bachelor kitchen, a candle on the table between them, tucking into a plate of home made ravioli with a creamy mushroom sauce, and a chilled glass of wine.  
"Ummm, niss is wery ood! " Sam said, through her hot mouthful.  
"What was that?" Malcolm laughed, it made her heart sing to see him so relaxed.  
"It's yummy!" She enthused, after swallowing."where did you learn to cook like this?"  
"Dunno. Taught myself. Like mucking about, trying stuff."  
"And yet you never seem to eat anything? You shun food. I'm always afraid you'll get a stomach ulcer! Seriously, there's nothing of you Malc, you could do with a few of your own meals!"

Later they curled together, on his sofa, his arm draped in a leisurely fashion around her shoulder, leaning in to her as they watched tv. He dozed, snoring gently.  
It was 2am.  
Sam smiled to herself, as she extricated herself from his embrace and went to clear up the kitchen.  
After a few moments she was aware of him leaning against the door, watching her with an amused expression.  
"Bedtime!" He said, coming behind her and threading his arms around her waist.  
"You dozed off!" She retorted, "am I that boring?"  
"I'm cream crackered Sam......sorry. It's been a hell of a week." 

It was the first full night they'd spent together in his bed. The first of many.  
Tired he may well have been, but he was not about to allow the opportunity pass him by, of having her there, in his arms.  
"I could get used to this. A beautiful naked woman in my bed."  
The stubble on his chin tickled her, as he kissed her languidly. Lavishing his every attention upon her.  
This was not hurried or frantic, this was slow and erotic.  
He took his time, finding what really made her hum with pleasure, what she really liked, where she liked him to touch her and how. Asking permission, to try what might make her gasp and cry out.  
He bought her to orgasm with just his clever fingers and tongue, in the first instance, coaxing her up a second time a little later by making love to her, moving deliberately and sensually within her, finding her sweet spot, until she came undone beneath him, her legs trembling and weak, almost unable to stand afterwards, such was his intensity.  
They slept for a while, but woke at dawn.  
Spooned together, he with morning glory.  
Turning herself over she did for him, what he had done for her earlier.  
Exploring and enticing him, she soon discovered that he liked to be teased, he enjoyed her bringing him close, edging him, then pulling back. It turned him on. Stroking his length with a slicked up hand, cupping and massaging behind his balls, a finger eased over his tip, making him thrust involuntarily at the wicked lightness of her touch. Reducing him to a whimpering mess.  
When she went down on him with her mouth, taking him in, bringing him, once more, almost to the brink, then retreating, he cursed her under his breath.  
"Fuck. Oh, fuck Sam! No more please!" He begged, "I need to come.....let me please! So close! So close!"  
"Love me then, make me yours."  
She relented then, parting her thighs wide for him, hooking her feet behind his legs, she would not fight him to be on top, she told him, not this time.....but he wasn't always going to get his own way, she warned.  
"Sometimes Malcolm, I can be the boss.....not always you!"  
"Yes, ma'am! Anything you say!" That was enough to tip him over, and the payoff for all that teasing, was a prolonged and intensified experience for both of them. 

It was late morning when they finally surfaced.  
Drowsy, blissful.  
He made breakfast, eggs and toast, and good coffee.  
The hectic mayhem of the week, however, caught up with them, and they spent the entire day dozing, eating, lazing about.  
Making love.  
In the evening they went to her place. She showered, changed, they found a quiet place to eat.  
It was heavenly.

oOo

 

Much to Malcolm's delight and surprise, Sam did not tire of him.  
By the end of the first two months of their burgeoning relationship, he was as smitten as ever.  
She became his entire world.  
Sam felt the same about him of course, his empathy both as a lover and generally, never ceased to amaze her.  
His care for her, his concern, his tenderness.  
Little things.  
He worshipped the ground beneath her feet, with utter devotion.  
It was humbling. 

A little routine was established.  
Sam soon had some clothes in the wardrobe at Malcolm's place.  
She had a key.  
The fridge had pink prosecco and M&M's.  
There was lace underwear in his laundry basket, his sheets smelled of her fragrance.  
His bathroom cabinet contained Veet and tampons.

Most weekends, if they were not working, they spent the time together, either at hers or his.  
He now had his own drawer at her flat.  
Underwear, socks, t shirts.  
Some jeans, a jumper, a jacket hung in her cupboard.  
Razor and after shave on the shelf by the sink.  
Hammer Horror DVD's appeared amongst Love Actually, Sense and Sensibility and Forrest Gump.  
There was a copy of Private Eye on her coffee table. Satsumas in a bowl.  
Her kitchen now contained a pasta making machine.  
He cooked more often than she, because he was better at it.  
They didn't really go anywhere where they might possibly be papped.  
Cinema, restaurants, the odd bar.  
They visited galleries, went to concerts occasionally or to the theatre.  
Long walks or drives.  
Trips on the River, down to Kew, or Richmond. 

Work was more of a problem for Malcolm than for Sam.  
He found it much more difficult not to succumb to the temptation of her lips, or to sneak any little touch he could, if he thought no one might be looking.  
It was just that when he saw her, he found it hard not to think of her underneath him, and that made him a horny bugger!  
By and large Sam fended him off, keeping him at bay and forcing him to remain strictly professional, late at night he might steal a kiss, but for the most part, in office hours, they were employer and PA.  
The result of which being, that at the end of those two months, no one at Number Ten had the slightest clue. 

So it came as a total shock, when the shit hit the fan.

During the months following the conference, Julius Nicholson began to appear more and more around Number Ten.  
Newly created Lord Nicholson of Arnage, he stalked the offices like Voldemort.  
Only more malevolent!  
Sam did not like him, nor did she trust him, she thought him creepy. 

Events at DoSAC, contrived to keep Malcolm extremely busy, he was forced to spend a great deal of time there, away from Downing Street, smoothing things over, keeping everyone on their toes.  
Nicola Murray was busy trying to push her Healthy Lifestyle Initiative, procuring the services of Andy Murray as spokesperson and poster boy.  
But her heart wasn't really in it.  
Quietly and behind the scenes she was seriously considering a move to The States, to join a 'think-tank', affiliated to Yale. It was a prospect that held a certain appeal.

It was also around this time that Steve Fleming reappeared.  
The proverbial bad penny.  
Malcolm and Steve had a chequered history, Sam knew it, everyone knew it.  
The first Sam heard of the news of the falsified Crime Figures publication, was when an article appeared in the press, although she attached little importance to it at the time. 

Inexplicably, Malcolm had suddenly taken a few days holiday.  
On Wednesday morning she arrived at work as usual, to find his office door open, the room empty and silent.  
He was nowhere to be seen.  
Calling his mobile, it went straight to voicemail.  
Sam was worried. Very worried indeed.

During the working week, Malcolm and Sam did not tend to see each other outside work.  
Late nights and early mornings, made it difficult.  
Malcolm was usually picked up by pool car, it wouldn't look good, to come out of his house at dawn, with his secretary in tow.  
Friday night to Sunday evening was their time, they were together almost exclusively, barely leaving each other's side.  
That Sunday had been no different from any other, except that when she left him and he'd kissed her, he seemed strangely reluctant to let her go. Pulling her back for just one more kiss, one more embrace.  
He hadn't said a word about taking holiday.  
She realised later, he'd been trying to keep her removed from the brewing trouble, in blissful ignorance, trying to protect her and their relationship from what he must have guessed was coming. 

Just as suddenly as he'd disappeared, he was back.  
She heard him telling someone he'd been to Spain, which she knew was a lie.  
Later that morning, Julius seemed to be hanging around, like a spare part, he and Fleming as thick as thieves, before heading upstairs for a covert meeting with the PM.  
When she took coffee in to Malcolm, he was engrossed on his computer, and didn't so much as glance her way. 

This was bad, very bad indeed. 

It kicked off all in an instant.  
Raised voices.  
Sam tried desperately to gauge what was happening.  
As Steve came down the stairs from his meeting with Tom, he looked ridiculously pleased with himself.  
She heard snippets of his and Malcolm's exchange, through the open door......something about  
"Not buttering any parsnips.....any more!"  
A string of expletives from Malcolm, lashing out like a cornered wild animal.  
Nicola Murray, hurrying away like a frightened rabbit, Malcolm yelling after her.  
Then Julius, entering the office, simpering as only he could, was immediately pinned against the door by his lapels.  
" DON'T TOUCH THAT FUCKING SCARF! That's Paul Smith."  
Moving round her desk to listen, she heard Nicholson threaten to strike Malcolm.

Shit! This was really serious. 

As she returned to her desk, the news of Malcolm's resignation flashed up on her screen. 

Eyes wide with horror, before she could collect herself, or react, her own office was suddenly full of people.  
Milling around her, opening the drawers, looking at her computer.  
Petrified.  
As her world began to crash down around her ears.  
Unable to stop the tears from coming.  
Dimly aware of Malcolm storming into the room, straight to her side.  
Wishing that he would take her in his arms......  
"WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING?"  
"Leave her a-fucking-lone!"  
"It's alright Sam, it's alright." 

Then he was gone again, briskly walking out as they followed in his wake.  
Overcoat on.  
She heard his parting words as he marched away down the corridor.  
"YOU WILL FUCKING SEE ME AGAIN!"  
"You will see me again." 

Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some words are taken directly from season three episode 7.....one which is a toughie for me to watch.....I hate Steve Fleming with a vengeance!!  
> .


	3. The Angry Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Tucker has left the building.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are definitely going to be more than two parts to this!!! 
> 
> With this AU I'm trying to stick as much to the events of the show as possible. Principly and initially the last two episodes of season three. 
> 
> Some of the dialogue is actually from the show, the exchanges with Pat and Sarah Jennings. 
> 
> Couple of language notes.....I've used a couple of expressions my dad used to use all the time.....ack emma, is old RAF phonetic alphabet for AM (ante meridian), afternoon being pip emma. (Dad was in the RAF). Dim as a Toc H lamp, is actually from WWI, Talbot House, known as Toc H (Toc being the old Phonetic alphabet for letter T......now Tango).

THE ANGRY SPIDER.

For a few moments as Malcolm rounded the corner of the corridor, and disappeared, there was an eerie silence.  
Then she could hear whoops, cat calls and applause breaking out and ringing round the other offices.

Sam stood up quietly and calmly, clicked off her computer, reached for her handbag, collecting her things together.  
Stowing her phone, and her security pass carefully, she took her coat and scarf from the stand just inside the door and put them on.   
Not saying a word to a single soul, not that they even noticed anyway, she walked down the corridor as Malcolm had done moments earlier, and left the building.

Once through the security cordon and out onto Whitehall, she hailed a passing black cab.

A media mob clustered outside Malcolm's house, jostling him as he entered.  
"Watch my fucking hedge!"   
His two finger salute, a parting gesture as he let himself in. 

It was some half an hour later when Sam's cab turned into his street.  
The baying hounds of the press pack still camped there.

"Shit! Don't stop, driver!" She leaned forward and spoke through the partition.   
"Drive on passed and stop round the corner."   
The cabbie obeyed and then pulled over.   
"Sorry about this, but I need to make a call." She said.  
"No worries, love! The clock's turned off!"   
"That's kind, thank you!"   
She dialled Malcolm's mobile.  
Predictably, no reply. Straight to voicemail.   
She tried his landline, but it clicked to answer machine.  
"Malcolm? I know you're there. Pick up. Pick up for Christ's sake"  
Nothing.   
She hung up and dialled again.  
"Malcolm, I know you can hear this. I'm round the corner in a cab, I can't get passed the press core. Tell me what to do. Going away is not a bloody option. Call me.....now!"   
She hung up again, and waited.   
Seconds later her phone burst into life.   
"Malcolm? What can I do? Tell me? Don't you bloody send me away.....don't you bloody dare!"   
"Go round to the next street parallel with mine. Number 31. Mr and Mrs Singh. Their garden backs on to mine. Go there, knock, explain who you are, they'll help."  
"Okay.......Malcolm?"  
"What?"   
"You know what. I don't have to say it. I'll see you shortly." 

oOo

"Mrs. Singh? I'm really sorry, my name is Cassidy, you don't know me......"  
The rather beautiful woman, wearing a pale blue sari, looking quizzically at Sam, as she stood on the doorstep.  
"My friend, Mr Tucker, his garden backs on to yours....."  
She smiled broadly and stepped back, inviting Sam to cross the threshold, without further explanation.   
"My son, Raj, his football keeps going into Mr Tucker's garden, he always throws it back, and we chat sometimes." She beamed. "Such a nice man."  
"Well, I don't know if you've seen it on the news, but he's been sac.....resigned."   
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Mrs Singh lead her through the house.  
"I can't get to him, there's press everywhere, I don't want them to see me. You see, I'm his PA, but we're......well, we're......."  
"In love?" She volunteered.  
Sam stared, open mouthed......  
"Is it that obvious?"   
"Don't worry, Miss Cassidy, your secret is safe with me. If you come through, you can get into Mr Tucker's garden through the fence at the back, I'll show you."  
"I can't tell you how grateful I am. Thank you so much."   
"It's my pleasure. Look after him, and give him my best."  
"I will, thank you." 

oOo

Through the wooden fence which separated the two properties, Sam climbed into Malcolm's open arms.  
"Inside quickly!"   
"I thought you were going to tell me to stay away."  
"Let's get inside, they've already knocked on both my neighbours, fortunately there's no one home, either side. Bastards."  
He ushered her in, through the patio door.   
Locking and pulling the blind immediately behind him.  
She tugged him close, kissed his lips.   
He hugged and kissed her back, but not as she'd expected him to, his arms soon fell to his sides.  
Cold.   
Dead, his eyes seemed dead.  
There was a numbness and a detachment about him.  
It was dark inside, all the curtains were drawn.   
"Don't go near the windows." He warned.   
As she put the kettle on.   
"What are you going to do Malcolm?"   
"I've a meeting with Pat tomorrow. Go over a few options."   
Carrying two cups of coffee, she sat down beside him, and passed one over.   
"You'll be alright, you know. This is far from over."  
"I don't give a toss, Sam. It's all going to hell in a handcart. I don't fucking care any more."  
"I'm not hearing this. Not from you. Malcolm, you are not alone, and you are not without friends and allies."  
"As long as you're here, I don't need anything else."  
She reached across, took his hand and squeezed it.   
"You know the answer to that already."

 

oOo

Curtain twitching was not normally on Malcolm's agenda.  
He moved away from the window, with a sigh, and came back to bed.   
"They've given up, for now, but they'll be back in the morning."   
"Forget them Malcolm, come here to me."   
He swung his legs under the covers, propped himself on pillows and lifted his arm for her to snuggle up to him.   
Head against his chest, her hand resting on his shoulder, he held her there, his cheek leaning on the top of her head.   
After a few seconds he gave a muffled sniff.   
Sam, sat up, turned, and gathered him into her embrace, as his tears fell.   
He cried silently, no histrionics, the odd sniff, the only telltale sign.  
"Fuck! Hold me Sam. Tight."   
Stroking his head, her arms completely around his body, she pulled him closer.  
"You've got me? Yeah? You've got me?"  
An odd thing to say, as she was right there, feeling his hot breath against her breast, but she understood the implication.  
He needed to know, to be reassured.   
"I've got you Malcolm. I'm never letting go. Never. No matter what. I'm here. I'll always be here.   
I love you. I'll always love you. Hold on to me."   
Drawing as near as he could, tucking himself into her, he raised his head to look into her face.  
She bent towards him, touching his mouth gently with her own, he responded hungrily.  
Devouring her, covering her face, her neck, her throat, with passionate, desperate kisses.  
Pulling at her, to turn her onto her back, his hands clutching at her, moaning, pushing his body between her legs to force them apart.   
"I want to fuck you......I need to......." He whispered, voice harsh.   
She could feel the heat from him, his desire rampant, out of his mind hard, craving to be inside her.   
"Malcolm! Please! You're hurting me."   
He stopped as suddenly as he'd begun. Frozen.  
Eyes wide.   
Then hung his head, ashamed of himself.  
"Sam. I'm so sorry." He released her, pulled away. "What's wrong with me? I got carried away. Please, Sam, please forgive me."   
"Malcolm, I get it. You're upset, you're scared."   
She moved into to him, her hand caressing his cheek, damp from the tears, which began to leak out from under his lashes again.   
"Come here Malcolm, and touch me properly. I want you too, but you don't have to be rough......nor in a hurry. We have all night. We can do it again and again if that's what you want, let me hold you, be tender, and you be your loving self, as you always are. My Malcolm. My love."  
She began kissing him again, little sweet kisses, determined and insistent.  
Moving her hands on him, no teasing tonight, tonight he needed to know, to be sure, and sexual fulfilment was the affirmation of their close bond.   
His sharp intake of breath and whimper as her hand closed around his straining erection, was enough, she knew he wouldn't last, he was close already.   
Wetness beginning to seep from him.   
Allowing his mouth to latch on to her left nipple, biting gently, she groaned her approval.   
"God, Malcolm!"  
Testing her arousal with a forefinger, before positioning himself between her legs, the urgency gone, tempered now, replaced by fondness and devotion, he entered her slowly.   
Settling himself, letting her become used to the sensation of him filling her, before almost completely withdrawing and pushing into her again.  
Tonight he did not hold himself up and away from her, to watch her writhe beneath him, tonight they were to be close, skin on skin, arms entwined, rolling together, their bodies as physically as one, as it was possible to be.  
He cried out as he peaked, his head buried at the side of hers, his breath in her ear, a guttural sound, loud, almost primal, thrusting into her as the waves of orgasm rippled through him, pulsing and spilling, giving her all he had. Everything he was.   
His seed, his love, his heart and soul.   
Her walls clenched around him, urging him forwards, lifting to take him ever deeper.   
Afterwards, he lay still, breathing heavily, the odd small sob coming from him, which he sought unsuccessfully to stifle.   
"I love you so, Sam. With everything I am. Nothing hidden, nothing held back. Sod it all, Sam.   
What the fuck am I going to do?"   
"Tomorrow is another day Malcolm. It will come, and you'll get through it. We'll get through it, together."

oOo

Seated in the kitchen over morning coffee, Sam Cassidy contemplated her man.  
Dressed in a towelling robe, feet bare.   
So skinny.   
All nose and steely eyes.   
Resembling an angry owl.  
Hair fluffed up slightly, prickly unshaven chin.   
It was still early.   
He returned from the lounge, padding softly across the tiled floor.  
"They're back already." He observed.   
"The press?"  
"Yeah. Cunts."  
"You can use them to your advantage Malcolm. You were one of them once, don't forget."   
She sipped her drink, munching absentmindedly on a piece of toast.   
"What time is Pat coming?"  
"Ten ack emma."  
"Do you want me here with my PA hat on, or make myself scarce?"   
"I'll see him alone."   
"Okay, I'll stay upstairs, out of the way. Here, have some toast....you need to eat something, Malcolm. I've made some porridge."  
"Coffee is all I want."  
"Malcolm......for gods sake......you need to eat. You had virtually nothing yesterday, you can't starve yourself. Come on. SIT. EAT!"   
Malcolm huffed, but obeyed.  
"Mmm, this is good.....I like your porridge. I have a deep and abiding childhood phobia of oats....my mother's porridge as a kid, was a cross between wallpaper paste and fucking polyfilla."

oOo

"Do you want to swim the channel, for Scope?  
Or appear on Dragon's Den for Children in Need?"  
"I'd rather fuck a real dragon." Malcolm leaned back on the sofa, exasperated beyond all reason.  
"Would you consider promoting a politically themed restaurant?"   
"How does that.....how does that even work?"   
"You could write a children's book called The Angry Spider!"   
"Fuck me! No!" 

It wasn't until after Pat had been ushered out, that Sam crept downstairs.  
Malcolm was still sitting, head between his hands, on the couch.   
Walking over to him, she bent, took both his hands in her own, tugging them away from his face, pulling him to his feet. She placed his arms around her middle, put her own around his neck and cuddled him to her. Kissing him, gently, over and over, his lips, cheeks, and the tip of that beaky nose.  
He looked so melancholy.   
"Did you hear any of that bullshit?"  
"Mmm hmm." She started to snigger.  
"What's so fucking hilarious?"   
"Dragons Den?" Sam exploded with fits of giggles.  
"The Angry Spider?" Her laughter burst into waves of hilarity........"I'm sorry, hahahaha, really, Malcolm......"   
"Or you could maybe do Strictly? I could see you in a spangled leotard!"   
Malcolm began to smile despite himself.  
"Or I could go on Britain's Got Talent and do my act of playing the fucking spoons."  
"Oh, yeah......wearing a leopard skin thong......"  
Sam creased into gales of fresh laughter, until her sides hurt.   
"Fuck it all, Sam! Dunno why I'm laughing, it's no bloody joke."   
"No.....actually, it IS a joke.....and it's bloody funny, Malcolm, I'm sorry, but it is."   
"God! I don't know, I thought Pat was a bright cookie, but he's dim as a Toc H Lamp!" 

 

"So......what the next thing on the agenda? Have you anything else lined up?"   
"Yeah. I'm meeting Sarah Jennings at the BBC, tomorrow lunchtime."  
"Bloody hell! That'll be good......what do THEY want you for? QI? Have I Got News For You? Or is it a cameo in Midsomer Murders? Every bugger's been in that! Oh, no.....hang on, that's ITV!"   
"Ha Fucking Ha, funny lady........no......it's a new show, apparently. She's going to pitch it to me tomorrow, wouldn't give me the details."   
"Malcolm. I don't know about you.....but I'm going stir crazy in this house. Do you think Mrs Singh would mind us availing ourselves of her garden route, so that we can sneak off for a few hours?  
We could go over to Greenwich, it's a lovely day, have a walk, get some fresh air in the park."  
"You're determined to get me healthy aren't you?.......eat this, walk there, fresh air.....Christ! You'll have me jogging next!"  
"Oh shut up, you miserable old bugger, anyone would think you'd just lost your livelihood and were facing a future in daytime broadcasting!!"  
Malcolm gave her a playful thump on the arm.  
"Fuck me! Stop making me feel cheerful! I want to be bereft. I'm fucking grieving here. Scottish melancholy. Life is shit. Okay?"   
"Okay. You enjoy being miserable, we'll be miserable together. But can we be miserable at the park? Because I need to get out of these four walls!" 

oOo

"Come through Malcolm! Have a seat!"   
Sarah Jennings sat opposite, smiling just a little too wide.   
"So, we have a great pitch to put to you, we're really excited!"   
Malcolm smiled back, his toothy smile, false.   
"Yeah, this could be the highlight of my career, and I've taken a dump in the White House!"   
"See, that's great banter, that's exactly what we're looking for."   
Listening to her words, he could suddenly see himself.....or rather the vision of what they wanted to make him, what they contrived to turn him into.  
"......people like you, who have been through the shit, say Brian Keenan, Kerry Katona....."  
........A performing seal.   
Glancing at his phone, it lit up with a text message.....from Sam.

"How's it going? S xxxx" 

"Sorry....this is important, I have to take this.....can you, excuse me?"  
Rising, he left the room, phone clamped to his ear, he walked away down the corridor with no intention of returning.   
He wasn't going to be a circus act for anyone.   
End of story.   
Reaching home, he threw his keys onto the hall stand, and slumped down on the sofa.  
The paparazzi had given up and gone away.   
He was free to come and go as he pleased, he was already forgotten.   
Yesterday's news. Old hat. 

Nothing Sam could say or do, seemed to console him.   
Desolate.  
She started on dinner, leaving him stretched out on the couch, watching Andrew Neil he'd recorded from Morning TV, eating hula hoops off his fingers. Hurling them at the TV screen.   
His phone rang.   
"Phillip Schofield. I fuck lobsters for money........oh! ......Hello!" 

It was Julius Nicholson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing a different Malcolm, I love the 'married with three kids Malcolm, but it's nice to approach him from a different angle for a change! 
> 
> It's easy to follow a thread once created, it's more of a challenge to think outside the box. The thing about Malcolm is, you can't really be wrong, with Peter's clever playing of the character, it's all there for you to play with, to make of what you will!


	4. Mopping Up the Splatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam goes back to Number Ten, to tie up some lose ends.  
> She gets angry.  
> We find out what happens to Sam when she gets angry........so does Malcolm.....!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure where all this smut is coming from.  
> This Malcolm is a different one entirely from my previous AU.......and I like him!!  
> He's a bit more of a challenge for me to write too.....especially the sexy stuff, hope you still enjoy reading it.  
> My husband thinks Christmas has come early!! 
> 
> Some of the dialogue, again, comes directly from the show, with my own little tweaks, so I'm not slavishly copying, just giving the flavour. I prefer the work to be out of my own head!! And that is buzzing at the moment, as this story comes to me!!

MOPPING UP THE SPLATTER.

 

Going back to Number Ten was something that Sam Cassidy did not relish.  
The machinations of the place continued unabated, as if nothing happened.  
Comings and goings, voices in the corridors, phones ringing.  
All the cogs of government revolving and moving in a perpetual slog.  
Except He wasn't there.....making it happen.....  
......Like a hamster on a wheel.

Sam was tidying her desk, answering a few stray emails, dealing with outstanding correspondence and preparing to leave again.  
Nicola stuck her head around the door.  
"Sam? Surprised to see you here."  
"Well, technically, I'm not. I no longer have an employer. I just popped in to sort out a few things. Then I'm off."  
"A word to the wise......watch Fleming......steer well clear of him, he's far too hands on, if you know what I mean."  
Sam, frowned.  
"Nicola, I have no intention of going anywhere near the man. He's poison. And nothing will convince me otherwise."  
"Loyal to the last eh?" Her look was one of pity.  
Sam began to become rattled, but tried her best to control it.  
"Better the devil you know!"  
"Well, you probably know it better than most, poor dear. What you must have put up with all these years. It doesn't bear thinking about."  
Sam seethed. She really wanted to shout and rant at that injustice, but she knew she couldn't.  
"Funny thing." She replied, through gritted teeth. "But I would rather have twenty Malcolm Tucker's where I know exactly where I stand, than one Steve Fleming, with more agendas than the snake in the Garden of Eden. Now if you'll excuse me Nicola, I have work to do, and new employment to find!"  
Nicola raised her eyebrows slightly, in surprise, then continued,  
"Well, if you need any help, or there's anything I can do......?"  
That did it......straw that broke the camel's proverbial....  
Sam turned on her angrily,  
"What makes you think, in your wildest dreams, that I'd ever ask you for help? When you are complicit in the reason I have no job in the first place?"  
"Me? How is it anything to do with me?"  
"Because you could have bloody well said something Nicola.....you could have spoken up. He asked you to have his back on that Crime Figures phone call. But you chose not to. You chose to preserve your own sorry arse. He asked you for help and you shafted him. I heard you. So don't stand there and witter on to me about helping me........you've done more than enough damage already.  
And, hey, you know what? ......you've made the wrong enemy Nicola......I know Malcolm.....he won't ever forget it. And one day, you'll wake up in the morning and find that it's you in the shit, and you'll look to him for a shovel........and he'll drop you, like the dead horse you are.  
Now, pardon me, but I have stuff to do, and this conversation is over."  
She swept passed the astonished Minister, mouth agape, speechless.  
Sam was angry with herself, for letting rip, but she just couldn't help it. 

Her fury had not abated, when in the corridor she barrelled into Steve Fleming himself.  
"Sam! Sammy! My dear girl."  
That insipid look on his face. That slimy smirk.  
Sam was ready for him.  
"Steven!"  
He grimaced.  
"It's STEVE!"  
"And I'm not SAMMY!" She retorted, "so that's got that sorted."  
Her phone pinged at that moment with a text.  
Glancing at it, seeing it was from Malcolm, a thought suddenly struck her.  
She switched the handset to dictaphone, which she often used when she helped Malcolm compose letters or speeches, before tucking it back into her handbag.  
"Sam. I can see why you're upset, so I'll just say this.....if you're looking for a new employer, I need a fine PA like yourself, someone who can do the job well and is decorative at the same time."  
He smiled sickeningly.  
"DECORATIVE?" Sam almost exploded.  
He was uncomfortably close to her, his face inches from her own, his hands resting on her forearms, squeezing and relaxing provocatively.  
"I'll say this quietly, STEVEN, so you know." She emphasised his name, and looked pointedly down at his hands, her voice was very soft and she spoke through tightly pursed lips,  
"Take your grubby paws off me, or I swear to God, my knee will come into contact with your testicles, IF.....and it's a big IF......I was looking for employment, trust me, you would be the last person on earth I would come to, I would rather stick pins in my eyes. Now let me go."  
"I'm sorry to hear you take that attitude. You may find it very difficult to get work in the department again."  
Sam stood back, bristling.  
"Are you threatening me?" She laughed.  
"Me? Goodness me, no! But don't you see, Sam? You're tainted by association! Loyalty to Tucker will do you no favours at all. I'm sure you know lots of little snippets about him, you could discreetly pass on, there'd be something in it for you, and you'd get top job as a reward."  
Sam's mind was racing.  
I know one massive secret, she thought to herself. Thank goodness they'd been discreet about their relationship.  
"I see! So if I stay silent, I'll never work again, but if I tell you all Malcolm's dirty little secrets, I get a reward and promotion......is that what you're saying?"  
"Well, I wouldn't put it quiet so brazenly as that, but......"  
"You really are, a 24 carat nasty aren't you? Unbelievable! All I'll say to you, is this. There are tribunals for harassment, sexual or otherwise, in the work place, and I know several others, who would be only too pleased to add their voices to mine. So....this is me telling you, leave me alone, or I will put in an official complaint against you. Now, I'll say it again, take your hands off me. Now!"  
He released her and stepped back.  
"You'll be making a very big mistake Miss Cassidy."  
"And you, Mr Fleming, have already made yours."  
She smiled and brushed passed him.  
Not until she reached the outside, did she switch off the recorder, read Malcolm's message and gratefully suck in great lungfuls of fresh air.

"Meeting Julius Nicholson this eve to chat......see you later tonight. Xxxx M" 

 

oOo

 

"The hat I am wearing is my Government Troubleshooter's Stetson."  
Malcolm took a mouthful of Chicken Madras, and helped himself to pilau rice.  
"Not to be confused with my Homburg of Sober Inquiry.....do you know what that means, Malcolm?"  
"That you're some kind of psycho hat fuck?"  
"A mass resignation of Cabinet ministers will only hasten Dan Miller's coronation, so, my question to you is, will you come back, and use your considerable influence to destroy the CABAL?"  
"You mean, mop up the splatter from my own fucking assassination?  
"It would be as advisor on Election Strategy, not a day to day Government Business Role."  
"Julius, I'm not coming back unless I'm in the clear, over this Crime Figures fuck up.....Fleming comes out of that smelling of roses, when really he's as covered in shit as anyone."  
"Now, Malcolm, imagine this onion bhaji, is the crime stats," he held the food aloft, delicately between his fingers, " now see what I'm doing Malcolm," he bit into it carefully.  
"I'm eating the bhaji, Malcolm..........I am the man who makes the bhaji go away." 

oOo

It was quite late when Malcolm returned home.  
Part of him wanted to sing, but the rest of him felt he'd let a golden opportunity to tell them all to go fuck themselves and reclaim his life, pass him by, and that he was somehow losing that moment.....he could walk away now, be happy, have Sam, and let everyone know how he felt about her.  
Once and for all.  
Instead he was giving them the chance to take him up the arse again, somewhere further down the line.  
He would just see them through the General Election, he thought, if Tom decided to call one, and Malcolm had no doubt he would.  
Whatever the result, win or lose, he would go then.  
Turn his back on it all.  
Say goodbye.  
Fuck the fuck off. 

He let himself in, took off his overcoat in the hallway.  
Television was off.  
The place was in darkness, was Sam already in bed?  
It wasn't that late surely?  
"Sam? You there?" He called up the stairs.  
"Malcolm? Get up here, now!"  
The reply came.  
Shit!  
She sounded angry.  
Had he done something wrong?  
"Sam? You okay? What's wrong?"  
"I want you to come up here." Her voice sounded odd.  
Malcolm was up the stairs in a flash. 

Walking into the bedroom, she was on him in a trice.  
Mouth latched on to his, kissing him as if there was no tomorrow.  
"Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting." She panted.  
"I've been with Juliu........holy fuck....Sam!"  
She turned him as she kissed him, backing him up, she was dressed all in black silk and lace.  
"Fucking hell Sam.......you look gorgeous, have I missed something? Jesus."  
"Undress for me Malcolm!"  
She stroked his cheek, her finger lingering, then touching the corner of his mouth.  
"After the day I've had I'm feeling extremely powerful. Tonight I'm in charge and you'll do as I say."  
Her fingers teased his lips apart, and he sucked them diligently.  
"Fuck me!"  
"Maybe later! Now, undress, and on your knees by the bed. DO IT!"  
Malcolm couldn't get out of his clothes quick enough, the sight of this beautiful woman, and being told just what to do.....fucking heaven!"  
Buck naked now, his prick jutting out before him proudly, he knelt down on the floor obediently.  
"Hands behind your back, head down!"  
He obeyed, and she sat down on the edge of the bed in front of him, legs either side of him, his head level with her thighs.  
She touched his hair, stroked his neck, reaching around his chest, back and stomach, the tops of his legs, anywhere but where he most wanted to feel her hands.  
"Christ Sam, I don't know what's bought this on but fu......."  
"Hush. I didn't say you could speak."  
"Sorry. I'll shut up then."  
"You may lick me. No hands."  
She lifted the soft silken material and presented her crotch to him, the lace of her knickers still in place.  
Malcolm didn't need asking twice.  
Nuzzling against her, she could feel his nose, as he began to kiss her, over the top of the material, the wetness of his mouth and his hot breath against her.  
"Mmmm. That's good, I like that. We're doing this again." She murmured.  
Reaching down she pulled the wisp of lace to one side, allowing him better access.  
At the same time, reaching down, her hand on his hardness with the lightest of touches.  
He tried to push against her, get some friction, but it was fruitless.  
"Fuck.....Sam......no fair.....need to......"  
"Quiet! No coming for you just yet. Not till I say."  
"Fuck!"  
His tongue began flicking against her earnestly now, he deepened his ministrations, put his all into it, till she moaned, and writhed.  
"Stop!" She cried. "Enough. Now kiss me."  
Malcolm ceased abruptly, sitting back, she slid down and joined him on the floor beside the bed, directly facing him.  
As his lips found hers, mouth and chin wet from her, he leaned into her desperately, hands still clasped behind him, whimpering with need. She could taste herself on him and it drove her wild.  
"On the bed." She ordered, breaking the contact. "On your back, hands on the bars."  
He scrambled up immediately, eager, arranging himself carefully, cock straining now and weeping, precum leaking from it.  
Hands reaching back, grasping the metal bars of the bedstead. Frustrated at being prevented from using them.  
Slipping out of her knickers she dangled them in front of him for a moment, then tossed them aside.  
He looked down at her, neck straining forward to see what she was doing, fingers tightly clutching above his head, knuckles white, with the effort.  
Straddling him, he watched her intently, her breasts peeking out of the silk cami, as the straps slipped down.  
Positioning herself above him, then lowering herself down slowly over his bobbing erection.  
"No moving until I say, right?"  
He nodded.  
"Won't!"  
So thick and satisfying Malcolm's cock was, how did a man so whip thin, no more than a rasher of bacon, have a penis like that? Jesus, it was enough to make you weep!  
"Oh, Malcolm, so good, I can feel your whole delicious length."  
"Fucking hell, Sam.......going a wee bit mental down here."  
Kneeling up slightly to give him room to thrust upwards, she whispered,  
"You may fuck me, and don't you dare come before I do."  
He assented emphatically, and she began to ride him, one steadying hand in his hip, the other on herself, as she bought herself closer and closer.  
Malcolm shut his eyes tight and prayed he could hold off.  
She came, hard, her head thrown back, mouth open, eyes clamped shut.  
"OH GOD. MALCOLM." She screamed.  
He came himself instantaneously, just from the sight and sound of her, sending him out of his skull, brain turned to mush, white lights flashing on his retinas, his orgasm went on and on, pumping into her, straining upwards. 

They lay, together, in the after throes, entwined in each other's arms.  
His semen on her, between her legs, on him, on her thighs, on his thighs.  
Neither caring a jot.  
Sweaty, debauched, humming with satisfaction.  
"I don't know what fucking happened to you today." He breathed, "but mother of God, tell me how to recreate it and I will! Holy crap Sam.......but you are hot as fuck! I'm completely spent. I haven't come that hard in ages. I swear to God! I thought I was going to pass out. My sorry little balls are empty. Fuck!" 

They showered, together, each soaping the other's body, sensual, pleasurable.  
Standing under the flow of warm water, kissing deeply.  
He, semi hard again, but not aroused enough to come, it was far too soon.  
Then, he dried her, towelling her off, giving her tender after care, massaging her back and shoulders.  
Once ensconced, back under the covers, she told him of her encounters with Nicola and Fleming.  
Played him the dictaphone.  
He listened, fuming.  
"That balding fuck, I'll tear his bollocks off and fry them as sweetbreads and eat them on toast. How fucking dare he?"  
"So this is what turned you into a raving nympho is it? I'll remember that, next time I'm going to get into a row with you! Lucky me......what a fucking pay off! Thanks Steve!"  
Sam giggled.  
"So you like a bit of Mistress action then?" She played with his chest hair absentmindedly.  
"Well, I'm not sure if I'm into all of that kinky shit, but I love you taking charge, telling me what to do......fucking turns me on, gets me into a different head space, hard out of my mind, makes me fucking mental, shit......it presses all my buttons!"  
"We'll have to do it again then!"  
"Fuck yeah!" 

"I didn't ask you how it went with Baldimort?"  
"Oh. Not so bad. I'm back working for the Government......but apart from that...."  
"What?" She gasped. "What do you mean, you're back?"  
"What I say! Advisor on Election Strategy. And I think I've shafted Fleming in the process, he'll be out by the end of the week."  
"So you've said yes? You're going to do it?"  
"Couldn't really say no. Thought about it, but what else do I know? It's my fucking life. Mind you, I need to find myself a good PA though.......know of anyone suitable?"


	5. Honi Soit Qui Malcy Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage is set for Malcolm's come back......Sam has misgivings, and so does Malcolm himself.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a plan in my mind now of where this story will go.....how it will continue.  
> It will be nothing like my previous Malcolm.   
> As is expected with him, there will, no doubt, be angst and heartache, and revelations a plenty, but right now, there is a General Election coming up and, in the format of the show, at least two years in the wilderness.(before season four begins)  
> I think for the purposes of this tale, those two years will be condensed somewhat, the thought of them continuing, as they are, for all that time, is too much to bear!!!

HONI SOIT QUI MALCY FUCK.

Neither the alarm, nor the birds, nor the coming of daylight woke Malcolm that morning.  
His eyes finally opened on that new day, at nine o clock.   
Rolling over, he pulled the woman he loved more than life itself, into his embrace.   
Sam mumbled something inaudible, and came slowly to wakefulness herself.   
"Last night was fucking amazing Sam......still keep thinking about it."  
She touched his face with her fingers, and smiled, sleepily.   
"So, I've finally found what makes Malcolm Tucker REALLY randy." She laughed.   
"Except you're always randy anyway!"   
"I am with you." He replied, and pulled her closer.   
"Malcolm, I swear to god, the first part of you that wakes up in the morning is always your prick!"   
"You love it, Darl!"  
"Right now, I could murder a cup of tea!" She twisted in his arms but he wouldn't loosen his hold.   
"Fuck first, tea afterwards!"   
He began to plant little kisses, on the mounds of her breasts, his lips and tongue moving over them, in turn.  
He knew this always had the desired effect.   
Suckling her nipples, into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them, had her moaning in seconds, and this morning was no exception.   
"God, Malcolm! You know just what to do to me, don't you? You get me going every time!"   
"After last night, I'll do anything, I want that again.....Jesus, I want to come like that again. It was fucking astonishing!"   
He moved down her body steadily, her fingers tangling in his hair, urging him onwards.   
The first flick of his tongue between her legs, had her back arching, but he held her down firmly, his hands gripping her hip bones, keeping her still, as he worked on her, building her up and up until she could bear it no more, she came before he had time to even think about entering her.   
Looking down, seeing his eyes looking up at her, watching her.   
"Fuck, Sam, I love to see you come, so beautiful, yeah?" 

More than half an hour later, Malcolm finally rolled off her, with a contented sigh.   
Missing the feel of being inside her immediately.  
"I'll make the tea then shall I ?" He smirked.  
"You'll have to, I can't move, let alone walk!" She murmured, as her breathing returned slowly to normal.   
"Honestly Malc, when we went to that conference, did you see this? For us? Did you think we would ever be like this?"   
"Not in a million years! I just thought I'd go through the years, just wishing. Not once did I think I could ever be this happy Sam. With any woman, least of all the one I've loved and admired for so long ."   
"We're good together, aren't we Malc? I love you so much that it's a physical pain, here, in my chest."   
She put her hand to her breast, to emphasise.   
"Can I say something to you, Malcolm?"  
"Anything."  
"Don't be angry. But I really wish you wouldn't take up Julius's offer. I really wish we didn't have to hide any more."  
He tangled his fingers in her hair, kissed the top of her head, tenderly.   
"Just until after the Election, yeah Sam? No matter what the result. Then I'll quit. Walk away. Tell them to go jump. I fucking will."  
She regarded him, earnestly.   
"Promise?"   
"I promise."   
He sat up, moved to the edge of the bed and stretched.   
Smiling, sated, happy.   
"Think I might jump in the shower first, I'm a bit sticky!" He said, his hand absentmindedly rubbing her foot, which lay on the outside of the covers, tweaking her painted toes, with his long fingers.   
"So........what's the plan for today?"   
"Into DoSAC. Give them the biggest fucking surprise of their lives. Especially Nicola. Can't wait to see her face. She'll be shitting bricks."  
"Need me?"  
"No, you get yourself off to Downing Street, I'll be there later. I need to get myself hooked up to a printer, then terrorise Ollie and his chums. Then I'll come over there and throw a couple of grenades into Julius and Steve's offices. That should warm things up a bit."  
"Just text me if you need anything."  
"I'll need you to take me in a suit, shirt and tie. I'm going in, in casual Malc mode, then I'll metamorphose into Malcolm 'the fucker' Tucker later."   
She giggled.   
"Oi! Tea please Mister!" 

oOo

It was Ollie who spotted Malcolm first.   
"Fuck! Shit! Malcolm's back."  
He was up from the desk and walking forwards in a trice. Two little red patches appearing on his cheeks, like rouge marks.   
"Hello, my little fuck Bob shit pants."   
This Malcolm was a strange Malcolm.   
Dressed in jeans and a light knitted top with a collar.   
Quiet, subdued, almost demure.......Ollie asked how he was.  
"Oh, you know, good days and bad days. Fucking Fleming though, what can I say, I despise the guy."   
His voice soft and measured, his responses tempered and calm.   
Seated in the liaison office, Ollie hooked him up to a printer and computer.   
Leaving him to work quietly, while he rushed off to tell the others.   
The news spread like a forest fire.  
Nicola, was predictably, the most perturbed by the news, her first instinct was to run and hide, but then thought better of it.   
"It's okay Nicola......he's different. It's like he's been to the vets. Had his knackers done!"   
She bit the bullet. Marched in to see him.   
"So.....you're back?"   
"Just tying up a few lose ends!"   
"With which you will presumably fashion a garrotte, to strangle me."  
"No, Nicola.....forgive and forget, that's my motto!"   
She almost stepped back in amazement.  
"I thought your motto was 'who fucks wins' or 'honi soit qui Malcy fuck?"   
"I have a lot of mottos."   
"God! .........I'm going to Number Ten!"   
"Ah, good! I'll chum you over." 

Malcolm reached for his fleece.   
Was Malcolm Tucker wearing a fleece?   
What the fuck was going on?   
Terri was incredulous.....  
"He offered me money for the tea kitty! Then he said this colour suits me!" She breathed.  
"I think he was flirting!" 

 

oOo

Sam arrived back at Number Ten, and resumed her seat at her old desk.   
She did not turn on her computer, or open a drawer, or take off her coat.   
Laying her hands on the leather top in front of her, she took in several deep breaths.  
Odd.   
It felt odd.   
For the first time in her career, she actually found herself questioning why she was there.   
Every synapse of her brain, screamed at her, that this was a mistake.   
That somehow this day would be the beginning of events that would be so momentous, that would spiral so far out of control, that she would be affected for ever.   
She and Malcolm, swept along, in a tiny canoe, no hope of reaching dry land, that was how she felt.   
Tears welled up in her eyes.   
Then she heard his voice, somewhere outside in the corridor.  
Forcing the emotion down. Wiping her face briefly on a tissue.   
Breathing a few deep lungfuls of air, she rose, smoothed down her skirt, and walked into his office.   
His eyes lifted as she entered.  
The look was one of triumph.   
He was back in his domain.   
Where he belonged.   
Where he really wanted to be. 

And then she knew. 

Just in that look, at that moment. 

She knew. 

 

He would never quit.   
Unless he was forced out.   
Never walk away, this was his life.   
Not even his love for her, was as strong as the pull of this fucking job.   
He was kidding himself, and lying to her.   
She expected herself to be furious, upset.   
But she was neither, she somehow accepted the inevitable.   
This was the Malcolm Tucker she'd fallen in love with.  
Would always love, no matter what.   
Would stick with, whatever was thrown at her.   
And this was him, this was his world.   
"Welcome back, Malcolm." She whispered.   
"Coffee?"   
"Sam! Please. And a skinny muffin if you can rustle one up!" 

oOo

The front pages of the daily press carried a picture of Julius and Fleming in the park.   
Long lensed by a freelancer.   
The report on the Crime Figures had also been published......clearly Julius had pulled an all nighter. It was a damning indictment, and Fleming did not come out well in it.   
Julius was not happy with Malcolm at all, however.   
"You are a cheeky bastard!   
You forced me to come down on him like a ton of bricks, or risk my unimpeachable reputation for fairness."   
"He really is a 24 carat shite, though!"   
"Sam!!" Malcolm called.   
She entered the office, with a tray.   
"No pissy biscuits Sam."   
Trying hard not to smile, she laid the tray down, and Malcolm caught her eye.

He winked. 

Blushing deeply, she hurried away.   
Returning shortly with his suit, in a plastic wrapper.   
"I'll change here in my office. Stand guard outside Sam.....I don't want anyone bursting in, viewing my keks, or my Avengers socks!"  
Once he was again dressed in his armour.   
Sam reentered and gathered his discarded clothes together.  
Just as she was about to leave, he gripped her arm suddenly.   
"Tell me I'm doing the right thing Sam?"   
"Malcolm, I can't tell you that. But you're doing what you need to do, that's what matters."  
"I fucking love you. Whatever happens, you won't forget that will you? That won't change. No matter what. I'll never stop loving you."   
"I know Malc, I know. I'm just afraid! That's all. I'm afraid for you and I'm afraid for us. In fact I'm bloody terrified, of what it might do to us.  
This job is bigger than us both, and I'm petrified of it."   
He saw the tears in her eyes.   
"Sam......don't.......please!"   
His eyes pleaded, searching hers, needing reassurance.   
His fingers caressed the skin of her wrist, he was about to say something else, when there was a sharp knock on the door.   
His hand snapped away in an instant and he returned to his seat.   
The spell was broken.


	6. Down to Funky Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Fleming gets his just desserts.  
> Malcolm is working himself into the ground......Sam takes drastic measures......to get him to do what she wants......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you think I can pull off the more explicit stuff. It's a challenge, for me as a writer, and I'm not sure where it's coming from! I'm writing it, not purely for titillation but to explore the relationship further. 
> 
> I very much wanted Malcolm and Sam's relationship to not be a classic bondage fest. I was adamant about that, I wanted it to be different. Others write that, so much better than I could, I also have to take my own writing preferences, and knowledge into account, from my professional stance. ie the caring, nurturing side. Which I feel are my strongest assets.  
> To this end I've done a lot of research on non-BDSM fem/dom relationships, and there's a great deal out there. Control and finding a headspace without the use of toys, restraints or other methods, other than a mutual agreement between partners is quite common. Malcolm is quite vanilla in his tastes generally, but also enjoys handing himself over.  
> There are specific reasons why he is averse to arse play, that will become clear later.  
> There is a great deal more to come out, in this dynamic, and in the relationship generally.

DOWN TO FUNKY TOWN.

Malcolm had Nicola in his office.  
Verbally backed into a corner.  
"Stay."  
"Malcolm.....I......."  
"If you go, you'll cause a mass exodus that could cost us the election. I can put in a word for you at the Foreign Office.....think of that Nicola.......stay."  
"Fuck it. Alright. I'll stay."  
"Fantastic, the Foreign Office needs cleaners anyway."  
"Fuck you Malcolm." 

News was circulating of Steve Fleming's imminent resignation.  
The two titans met in the doorway.  
"I'm joining Dan Miller's team. We need a new leader. And we're going to take you DOWN.  
Down to funky town. CHOO, FUCKING CHOO!"  
"Is this what you're threatening me with...? A disco ball, and lights....?"  
Fleming stormed away.  
Sam gave his retreating back two fingers.  
Not that he saw, but it made her feel better. 

Within two hours, the news hit.  
A General Election had been called.  
Tom was grabbing the initiative.  
Malcolm was on sparkling form.  
Even more so when he heard the opposition had Cal Richards.  
Better known as The Fucker.  
He gathered everyone in his office.  
Gave them all a rousing speech.  
Sam beamed with pride as she listened.  
"They're coming over the hill, and we're going to grab whatever weapons we can.....and twat the fuckery out of them."  
Several people applauded.  
"Come on people. LET'S SET FIRE TO TEARS!" 

 

oOo

As the results came in, it was soon abundantly clear, there would be no majority.  
The Party were fucked.  
A coalition. Out of power.  
Finished.  
Malcolm left earlier than most, couldn't sit there and watch the screen any longer.  
By three am he was home, wired, completely hyped on Red Bull and adrenaline, unable to even sit, let alone sleep.  
He paced, relentlessly.  
Sam watched him.  
He was a husk, nothing more.  
A vacant shell.  
She had to do something, or he would destroy himself.  
There was only so much a body could take, and these last few manic weeks had taken their toll.  
He looked haggard and grey, a colourless pallor.  
If he didn't stop, he would have a heart attack, or a stroke, or worse.  
Sam decided to act, and she knew the best way to get him to do what she wanted.

They had talked at some length about this.  
Since the night following her run in with Nicola and Fleming.  
The night she'd just gone for it, with no previous discussion, and found Malcolm to be a very willing participant. Always desperate, often hard, craving affection, love, sex, closeness.  
And an adrenaline junkie.  
They spoke about it together, after that evening.  
What Malcolm liked.  
What she liked.  
He wasn't into ropes or toys he said, but he liked Sam taking complete control of him.  
Especially if he was feeling vulnerable.  
Nothing anywhere near his arse. He'd been adamant.  
But he wouldn't say why.....clammed up on her. Refused to elaborate.  
There was much more to prise out of that particular box, she was certain.  
But she didn't push it, not then, another time maybe.  
The teasing she knew about, had discovered early on, but it was much more than just that.  
It was an entire headspace, a focus, being made to wait, not having to think for himself, being so aroused, so out of his mind, that he floated, detached, thought of nothing else.  
It ripped him apart at the seams.  
It was the reason she kept it as an occasional thing.  
Anything more would be too much for him.  
It was a scenario he'd only ever dreamed about, fantasised over, imagined in his head, and to give him that each time would be like eating Christmas Dinner every day........overkill. 

His pacing continued, running his hands through his hair, and across his face.  
His expression half crazed.

"Malcolm. Stop this now! Upstairs! Into the shower. You. Me. Bedroom."  
His fretful glance was hopeful, always hopeful, these nights were his raison d' être.  
Moments after emerging from the bathroom, she had him kneeling, soaked, at her feet, oh, so subservient, so fidgety, unable to stop the tremble of anticipation that ran through him.  
Prick hard as a broom handle.  
She dried him off carefully, herself, with a super soft bath towel, lavishing all her attention on him.  
Gently, moving the material across his back, down his arms, between his legs, nothing overtly sexual, but calming.  
Speaking soothingly as the terry cloth moved across his sensitive skin.  
"Tonight you don't get to come unless you do as I say? Understood?" She whispered, her mouth close to his ear lobe.  
"Yeah. Fuck!"  
"No touching yourself......no relief, unless I'm satisfied."  
"Shit, Sam. Have a heart, it's been a tough day!"  
"No, Malcolm. No quarter. We've discussed this. You've agreed, these nights are my nights, and you do as you're told. Or else. You know your safe word. You can use it if you have to, otherwise, shut up!"  
"I'll do anything you say. I swear."  
"Put this towel under you. You just need to do as you are told, focus on that. I've told you how far I'm prepared to go with this, what I'll do and what I won't do. I'm not into restraint and inflicting pain Malcolm, but if you'll give yourself over to me, I can make you glad you did. You get the reward in the end. The big payoff. But only if you're good, and behave yourself. Deal?"  
"Fuck, yeah. Deal."  
"Good. Now, hands behind your back."  
Obediently he clasped his hands together over his rump, kneeling as if in prayer, legs splayed.  
She began with soft and gentle touches, stroking with just the merest of feather light contact, his breathing became rapid, as he stayed there, watching her every move.  
Still fully clothed, she moved around him, kneeling behind him, putting her hands all over him, until he almost fell forwards with the sheer effort of holding himself still.  
Her hands on his nipples, teasing them, rolling them between her fingers, while he moaned and cursed quietly under his breath.  
Her tongue circling, flicking, then a slight bite, as he let out a muffled groan.  
Unbuttoning her top, she eased the material apart, as he gazed avidly, shifting in front of him, presenting her lace clad breasts to his face.  
"Kiss me." She murmured.  
Only too happy to oblige, his head immediately moving closer, lips touching the material, wetting it.  
She allowed him to continue for a few seconds, then moved away. Again he almost fell forwards, desperate for more.  
It didn't take him long to be in that zone, eager, keening, thirsting for more, yearning for any contact, any good word, anything she would give him, his entire focus on pleasing her, and being rewarded by being allowed to come.  
Sam learned very quickly, when first she broached the subject with him, that although he was quite vanilla in many respects, there were times when he needed, even desired to relinquish control, hand himself over, and when he did, the rewards were spectacular.  
She was touching his cock now, with just a fingernail, along the underside of his shaft, cupping his balls gently and massaging the sensitive softness of his skin there.  
The noises he began to make above her, were something else.  
Teasing him in earnest now, with her tongue against his sensitive head and across his tip.  
"Fuck, Sam....gonna make me come....."  
Instantly she ceased, moving away, to kiss his mouth. Leaving him fruitlessly fucking into the air.  
Slipping off her bra, touching her breasts against his chest, he sought to rub his length against her leg, but she wasn't allowing it.  
Three or four more times, she bought him agonisingly close, with her ministrations, with her fingertips, with her mouth going down on him, with her hand, each time frustrating him at the very last moment.  
Until Malcolm was almost frantic.  
Sam began to touch herself, unable to hold off doing so any longer, making him watch her, putting her fingers to his lips, she offered him a taste, the sounds he was making now were off the Richter scale, as he sucked her fingers zealously.  
Moaning, keening, longing for release.  
He begged her to allow it.  
"I may not, not tonight, but I might be persuaded. First you must do something for me."  
"Fuck! Sam! What? Anything, just let me come. Please Sam, please. I'm begging here."  
"And you're doing it beautifully, and I will let you come, on one condition."  
"Oh God! Please......anything, I'll do anything."  
"You must take some holiday."  
"WHAT! NO! I can't, not now!"  
"The Election is over Malcolm. You are worn out. You need some time, and I need some time.  
I don't care where we go. But I need a break. WE need a break. Just you and me. Take some holiday Malcolm. I will settle for a fortnight."  
All the time she spoke to him, her lips close to his, she touched his erect prick, delicately, just with a forefinger, the most delicate of touches imaginable.  
Malcolm was coming unraveled, a pleading mess. So desperate to come that his mind was filled with nothing else.  
"Do you agree? There's no going back, once you've said yes, that's it. So what's it to be? You can come in my mouth, or you can come inside me, or I can make you come with just my hand, right here and now. But not unless I think you deserve it."  
"Fucking hell. Okay! I agree. A week."  
Her hand stilled, and was removed, she made to stand up.  
"We're done here." She said sternly.  
"OKAY. OKAY. Two weeks! Shit! Shit! Please Sam please. Give my aching balls a break here. Please."  
"Do you deserve it, do you think?"  
"Christ! Dunno if I deserve anything. But I want it Sam. I want it. And I'll take you away on holiday. I give you my word."  
Her cunt throbbing, she touched herself again, he had no choice but to watch, his mouth open, pupils blown.  
She leaned against him, his legs either side of her own.  
One hand on herself, one lightly on him.  
Her orgasm, rippled through her, with no other caress other than her own fingers.  
Once her pulsing had died away, she closed her hand firmly around Malcolm's engorged cock, and began to pump him.  
He cried out, so sensitive was he after over an hour of edging.  
"You may come Malcolm. Come for me."  
For a few seconds, after so long being denied, he teetered on the brink, then he could feel the rise in his blood, the familiar tingle.  
Then....'Jesus fucking Christ', he was coming.....his head was exploding at the same time as his prick, he was coming, like he'd never come before, shooting ropes over the towel, her hand, his belly, coming and coming, as if that moment of ecstasy would never stop.  
Crying out, almost yelling.  
FUCK! Sam! HOLY FUCK!"  
Then falling forwards, onto her, as she held him fast, easing him down across her lap, shaking, blubbing, warm tears on his cheeks, hot semen on his stomach, covered in his own ejaculate, a weeping mess.  
But blissfully free.  
"Oh God! Thank you Sam. Thank you. Thank you. Fuck. Fuck. Hold me. Hold me Sam. You've got me yeah? Say you've got me."  
"I've got you Malcolm. It's alright. It's alright. Easy now. Easy."  
She stroked him as the waves of passion calmed and slowed. His chest still heaving periodically with a silent sob, punctuating every few breaths.  
Laying, curled across her, on the towel, spread on the carpet. In her arms. Unable to stand or articulate.  
"Fuck it all Sam. When we do this, I'm in another place, yeah? It's like I'm outside of myself. Fuck, but I love it. I love that you do this for me. I love you, so much, and the way you make me feel."  
"I love doing it for you. I'm glad that it's good for you. I love you more than you'll ever know, Malcolm, and if you're happy then so am I. You do things for me too, and that makes me feel special. So it works both ways."  
She reached for a tissue, and helped dry his eyes, he blew his nose, and then lay quietly for some time, his eyes closed, Sam massaging his temples, gently.  
Later she helped him to his feet, and left him to shower himself.  
When he'd finished , they curled together in bed with hot tea.  
Hands wrapped around the mug, he sipped slowly, savouring each moment.  
"Book something Malcolm, first thing tomorrow. I don't want the Caribbean, or anything exotic.  
But I want you to be somewhere restful and quiet, where you're not easily contacted." 

 

oOo

The torrents of relentless rain worried neither of the occupants of the tiny stone croft.  
Near Glen Coe, the most beautiful spot, nestling in the eave of the mountain behind.  
Nicely renovated, a roaring fire.  
No wifi signal, and Malcolm could only get his phone to work by climbing into the hills behind the back of the cottage and holding his arm in the air.  
They did very little of any consequence.  
Walked a bit, watched DVD's. Relaxed.  
Drove to a couple of places with a nice friendly pub, to eat, when not cooking for themselves.  
It took three days for Malcolm to wind down.  
Lose that haunted look.  
As he relaxed, so his smile came more readily.  
In the six months they had been together, she had seldom seen him like this.  
This Malcolm was wonderful.  
This Malcolm began to open up to her, just a little.  
Tell her about his early days in journalism, about his friendship with Jamie.  
She told him about University, her life before him.

 

They had copious amounts of sex.  
His already rampant libido, refuelled by plenty of sleep, fresh Highland air and good food.  
They made love in every room.  
On the hearth rug before the fire.  
In the bedroom.  
Over the kitchen counter, one particularly horny morning, and, finally, in the bathroom.  
Said room was large, the former scullery.  
The shower was dismal, Malcolm complained that he had to run up and down under it, in order to get himself wet.  
However, the bath tub was huge. A big old fashioned cast iron affair, with ball and claw feet.  
So, it was, they bathed together, he seated, spine against the rounded end, she resting between his splayed legs, leaning into his chest, her head resting back on his shoulder.  
Cupping his hands and letting the warm water drizzle down over her breasts, dick hard as iron against the small of her back.  
Resting his arms over her shoulders, and down her chest, so that he could reach between her legs and touch her, turning her to putty in his hands. 

This particular evening, they got very drunk, on malt whiskey, unusual for both of them.  
Playing 'never have I ever'.......a bloody stupid idea.  
Giggling, slurring, then reminiscing. Maudlin, as often happens with too much alcohol.  
Malcolm was particularly emotional for some reason, best known to himself, his relaxed state probably, the fact that he was dazed with love, of the most profound kind.  
Love that he had never experienced in his life before.  
'Never have I ever seen my father drunk, only tiddly' she laughed, started talking about being pissed generally.  
One thing lead to another, thoroughly lubricated by the Scotch.  
Suddenly and without warning, it all came tumbling out, such a surprise, such a shock.  
Malcolm breaking down, sobbing, copious inebriated tears, blubbing like a baby, his nose running, bubbles of snot coming from it.  
How his father was a sadistic bastard, an alcoholic, how he beat the crap out of Malcolm regularly, and his mother too, if she got in the way.  
How he'd tried to protect them both, more especially his sister.  
The bullying at school, little weedy runt that he was.  
The person he turned to for help in his misery and despair, his parish priest , he, the good little altar boy, never said boo to a goose. Crying to Father O'Brien, when he'd been belted so hard he could barely walk, and how he had taken him into the vestry at the back, asked to look at the marks. Pulling down his clothes, feverishly, exposing his raw back and rump, and the backs of his legs.  
The memory of being held down, and abused. Told never ever to tell. Their little secret.  
He was ten.  
Nothing on or near his arse, that's what he'd said, and that was why, the scars still so fresh.  
Just like yesterday.  
Sam was the first person he'd ever told.  
Ever.  
In nearly forty years.  
Now that weight was suddenly lifted.  
Light as air. Someone knew.  
All the years he'd blamed himself, thought it was his fault.  
He cried for hours, both then and now.  
Sam held him, let him.  
Said he felt more free than at any time since it happened.  
Thanked her over and over and over again.  
Pathetically grateful.  
Trust.  
He trusted her with that information.  
Now he could finally start to let it go. 

Later, when they were warm and fed, wrapped in matching fluffy bathrobes, they sat on the floor in front of the fire.  
He dozing fitfully. She cradling him like the child he sometimes appeared to be.  
Keeping him safe.  
Both a million miles from Downing Street.  
A world away from all the trials and tribulations.  
This was a bubble of bliss.  
And Sam told him so.  
No one and nothing to hide from, not mattering if they kissed or held hands outside.  
Not a single person to know or care about them.  
Able to say anything, reveal their innermost fears and secrets.  
They were both free.  
Malcolm had crossed the rubicon.  
Beginning a healing process that should have begun decades before.  
Maybe only now, was he truly ready.

 

oOo

At the end of their time, Sam really didn't want to return.  
Malcolm may have been itching to be back in the swing......but if he was he didn't let on.  
She didn't fail to notice the sigh he gave as they left the cottage for the last time.  
In a few short hours they were in London.  
Back to secrecy, a relationship behind closed doors.  
Where every look and nuance could be analysed, noticed and noted.  
Nothing was missed, which was why they continued to be so careful. 

Their life in Opposition had commenced.  
The inquest had begun as to what went wrong.  
Why had they lost?  
Who should go? Who should stay?  
What could they have done differently?  
Endless questions which Malcolm, as Election Strategy Advisor, was being bombarded with.  
As if the whole result was entirely his fault.  
He worked harder than ever.  
Longer hours, less sleep, little food. 

In that damn canoe, with no paddle, Sam swept along with him.


	7. What We Call a Blip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam discovers something mind blowing......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is starting to get angsty........there's a lot more to come.......
> 
>  
> 
> I actually wrote this scene about three months ago, but had no use for it.....well now I have.......!!

WHAT WE CALL A BLIP. 

Sam Cassidy was late.  
Not for work, not for a hair appointment, nor with her credit card payment.  
She was late.  
Late, late.  
Shit.  
She was never late.  
She was on the Pill.

A fear thrill went through her.  
Too early to panic yet.  
Wait a week.  
It was just over the month since their return from the croft holiday.  
The holiday where they'd had all that sex. 

The week passed.  
In a haze of complete brain freeze.  
Nothing.  
Best do a test then.  
Not at work.  
Back to her place.  
Pee on the stick.  
Wait the prerequisite time. 

"Pregnant 4/5 weeks." 

Sam sat on the toilet seat.  
Knickers still round her ankles.  
Staring at the stick.  
Fuck.  
What was Malcolm going to say.  
They had never discussed children.  
Not in any conversation.  
Ever.  
She knew he had a nephew and niece.  
Apart from that, he'd never talked about.....1)wanting them, 2)hoping one day he might have them, 3)hating them, 4)was too old for them.......nothing.......nothing whatever.  
She was so fucked.....literally and figuratively.  
Did she want children?  
Yes.....but right now?  
She didn't know. She honestly didn't know how she felt.  
Or what she wanted to do.  
It was one hell of a shock.  
What might Malcolm want her to do......or not do?  
More to the point, how would she break the news to him? 

She couldn't ignore it.  
It wasn't going away.  
Christ on a bike!  
Another week.  
Another test. 

"Pregnant 5/6 weeks." 

She rang the GP's surgery.  
Nine-thirty appointment.  
Malcolm had no meetings that morning, she sorted the emails, files and anything else he'd need, left them neatly arranged on his desk, a note paper-clipped to each, stating its relevance.  
He didn't enquire where she'd been, when she turned up at ten minutes past ten.  
She offered no explanation.  
The following morning she received a phone call.  
She ducked into the Ladies to take it.  
Confirmed.  
Pregnant.  
With child.  
Bun in the oven.  
Up the duff. 

She would have to tell Malcolm, and it would have to wait until Friday night or Saturday, when they were next alone together.  
How was she even going to phrase it?  
If Malcolm noticed she was a little quiet in the office, he said nothing.  
So preoccupied with the Post Election fallout was he, that he had little time to devote to anything else. 

Malcolm worked right over that weekend.  
She hardly saw him.  
He was wrecked at the end of it.  
Took Monday off and slept.  
Sam had now given three weeks worth of thought to this.  
She was almost two months gone.  
It was a child.  
Living and growing inside her.  
More importantly, it was Malcolm's child.  
Her man.  
The man she loved more than her own life.  
She'd taken time to think.  
Whatever he thought, she was keeping it.  
Even if she raised it alone.  
It was conceived in love.....so much love.  
She wanted it.  
She loved it.  
End of story. 

It was the following weekend, that she and Malcolm were finally together.  
The prospect of Friday night, Saturday and Sunday.  
Friday night wasn't the right time.  
He was exhausted.  
He slept half the evening, in front of the TV.  
They went to bed early.  
He was too tired even for sex.  
In the morning, at breakfast.  
She would tell him then.  
Trouble was, she'd started to feel queasy in the mornings.  
She'd noticed it, in the last week or so.  
Twice she'd lost her breakfast in the toilets at work.  
Once, before she even made it into the office.  
Her nipples felt like she had electrodes clipped to them, sore and sensitive.  
She peed eight times a day.  
By mid afternoon she was yawning cavernously and wishing she could take a nap.  
She had a craving for black olives....the ones in a jar, floating in brine!  
The mere thought, or smell, of egg made her retch. 

oOo

Turning over, reaching out with her arm.  
Empty bed.  
He was already up.  
She peered blearily at the clock.  
Nine fifteen.  
She could hear the clatter of crockery.  
He was cooking.  
Please let it not be eggs!  
She sat up gingerly.  
Nope, no queasiness this morning, thank god!  
Throwing on her robe, she padded downstairs to the kitchen.  
He was in his dressing gown.  
Bed hair.  
Bacon was sizzling, and freshly brewed coffee was waiting in the cafetière.  
Threading her arms around his middle, she rested her head against his back.  
"I've missed you!"  
"Me too, feel like I haven't seen you properly for a fortnight!"  
He set down the spatula, and turned in her arms, hugging her tight.  
She winced, as her poor breasts were crushed against him.  
"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"  
His face was all concern.  
She leaned back, looked up into his befuddled face.  
"Malcolm. I have something to tell you and I don't know quite how I'm going to say it."  
Quite suddenly she felt very emotional, and her lip began to tremble, as she felt her control slipping.  
"Shit!" his face blanched white. "You've had enough. I know I've been working so fucking hard Sam, and such long hours, and we've hardly been together, but I'm working on doing something to change it, seriously....I....."  
"Malcolm, hush!" She placed a finger gently over his lips. " Please, just let me finish."  
A tear leaked out from under her lashes, and coursed down her cheek, he watched it, mesmerised, and swallowed audibly.  
"I'm going to have a baby Malcolm. Your baby." 

Silence.  
Confusion. 

"I'm pregnant. About two months. I've known for a while, but I've not had the chance to tell you."

Nothing.  
Disbelief. 

More tears came unbidden.  
"Well, say something. I'm floundering here, yeah?"  
"You're quite sure?"  
"Positive. Been to the Doc's had the proper test."

"Holy fuck. Sam." 

"Is that 'holy fuck, no' or 'holy fuck yay'?"

"It's Holy Fuck Yay! Of course! I mean........" He hesitated, unsure, "if you're glad........I mean, what do you want to do?"  
He looked scared now.  
Afraid to say the wrong thing.  
To be too keen.....in case she didn't want to keep it.  
Or be noncommittal.....should she wish to go through with it, regardless.

Eggshells. 

"I want to have our baby Malcolm. What do you want to do? I realise it's a shock."  
"Fuck! Fuck! Sam." He crumpled, all in a second.  
Released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.  
Fell on his knees at her feet, his arms around her, his head resting against her stomach, pulling her in towards him.  
"I've done it. Me. Fuck.......I've done it. I've. actually. fucking. done it."  
He started to weep.  
Pressing his face into her.  
"Malcolm?"  
"When I was married......tried then.......ages......nothing happened. Got tested, and it was me.  
Said my fucking sperms were on crutches. One in fifty chance they said. Unlikely. The ultimate fucking irony for a horny bugger like me! Part of the reason she fucked off......found someone who's cock works properly. Fuck me! Fucking fuck me!"  
"Well, not only have you beaten those odds, you've also somehow managed to foil the contraceptive pill."  
"Jesus! Sam! My kid. In there." He stroked his hand across her belly, with a deep tenderness. His voice trembled, out of control. "I can't believe it. It's meant to be. It must be. Conceived in Scotland too.....it must be something in the water......"  
Sam smiled, mainly with relief.  
He was pleased, thank god!  
"What are we going to do about work? When I start to show? People are going to ask questions, want to know who the father is. Should I leave do you think? Should we tell anyone, say anything? I need to know what you think Malcolm. I'm.....I'm shitting myself here."  
"Let's wait a little while yeah? Before we reach any momentous decisions, as to that. Not say anything. I know eventually we'll have to. But not just yet. You'll move in with me though.....? Yeah? Live together, always? Raise it, together?"  
She held him, her hand on the back of his head as he knelt there.  
"Yes, Malcolm. Yes, please. That's what I'd like, more than anything."  
"I'll resign, Sam. That's what I'll do. Before its born. When you're about seven, eight months.  
I'll resign. Walk away, like I promised before, but never did. I broke that promise, and I'm ashamed that I did. But I'll give up. I'll walk away. I've got money, we'll be alright. I can do something else. We won't go hungry. I'll pack it all in."  
" Oh, God! Malcolm, I wish you would! We'd be free. We could do anything. The three of us. We could have a proper life. God, I love you so much, I'm having your child, and it's a miracle. I'm so glad you're happy, I was so worried, as to how you'd react."  
"I can't wait to feel it moving. Bloody hell.....my kid, our kid.......it's fucking amazing. YOU'RE fucking amazing. God! I fucking love you to bits. My Sam. My wonderful Sam." 

Over the weekend, it seemed to Sam that whenever she was close enough, his hand would stray to her belly, rest there, or rub in a circular motion.  
His looks, towards her, those of utter devotion and incredulity.  
Disbelief tempered with pure delight. 

The look of a man, who'd just proved to himself, and her, not that he needed to, that he was, in fact, a man.


	8. I'm Away For a Walk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds Sam has discovered she is expecting Malcolm's child.  
> They are both working themselves into the ground.
> 
> One night Sam has a bad dream.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a total fucking rollercoaster.......don a plastic mac and grab the tissues.....the fallout is nuclear.......
> 
> I'm also aware that Glenn actually worked for The Other Side at this point, but for the purposes of my AU.....he doesn't! 
> 
> (The last scene is taken directly from series four, episode two.  
> The sight of Malcolm slumped in the chair, glasses on, opposite Ben, in the closing credits, always spoke to me of something having happened to him, he seemed so completely deflated..... )  
> It is there to give an idea of time frame in relation to the show.)

I'M AWAY FOR A WALK. 

Relentless.  
A constant push, but to what end?  
Collapsing into bed at night.  
Wishing time away, for the weekend to come.  
A month down the line, and Sam had partly moved in.  
Some of her goods and chattels at his place, some still at her own.  
It was a gradual process, but rushing towards an inevitable conclusion.  
Culminating in her ceasing to return to her own flat at all.  
They came and went separately.  
He kissed her goodbye, left for work in the pool car.  
She followed on the Tube sometime later.  
Same in reverse, most nights. 

Malcolm hated it.  
The continual need for secrecy, it was wearing him down.  
So careful, always so careful. 

She was three months now.  
He watched her constantly.  
The changes were so subtle.  
But he noticed every one.  
The glow of her, the glossiness of her hair.  
The swell of her breasts, the very slight rounding across her stomach.  
Malcolm constantly fought the urge to hold her, touch his hand to that belly.  
It was much worse now, than at any time in the previous months, since they officially became an item .

Throughout the day, when he was distracted and busy with work, at any given random moment, the thought would suddenly hit him right between the eyes.  
She was bearing his child.  
HIS.  
Against every set of odds you could possibly care to calculate.  
Each time she walked passed him, or into the office, knowing that thought.  
That momentous secret.  
He was going to be a father.  
HIM.  
It was impossible to focus, and he really needed to.  
The end of the day couldn't come quick enough.

oOo

A routine was established.  
In the evening, when they finally managed to snatch a few moments together in peace.  
On the sofa.  
His head against her stomach, as she played with his hair absentmindedly.  
Resting there.  
Listening.....for he didn't know what, but it made him feel so alive.  
Laying with his head against her like that.  
His Sam. His baby.  
Malcolm Tucker had never imagined such joy. 

oOo

As usual in the corridors of power, there always seemed to be some trauma or monumental fuck up to deal with.  
If not that, then some intrigue or plotting or wheeler dealing.  
Malcolm had a party leadership election to oversee.  
Tom resigned, the party wanted change.  
Malcolm was instrumental in destroying The Cabal, Fleming consigned to the dustbin of history.  
Dan Miller successfully sidelined.....for now at least.  
His credibility undermined.  
Another enemy he'd made.  
Nicola Murray would not have been his first choice, but there it was.  
The lesser of several evils.  
She would be, as the new Leader of the Opposition, under intense scrutiny from the media.  
It fell to Malcolm, to whip her into some semblance of shape, to be able to hold her own in interviews, press junkets on television and radio.  
Endless coaching and briefing.  
It was a task he did not undertake lightly.  
During those weeks he and Nicola were travelling the country, drumming up support for her leadership candidacy from the party faithful.  
It took Malcolm away from home, away from Sam.  
He never stopped. 

oOo

The Thursday marked her 13/14th week.  
Malcolm absented himself for a couple of hours to attend the hospital for Sam's first ultrasound scan.  
He sat nervously beside her, as she lay back on the bed.  
Belly exposed.  
A squirt of gel and the sonographer began to move the transducer slowly across her stomach.  
Gliding it back and forth.  
Malcolm's eyes followed the fuzzy black and white image as it merged and swirled and finally came into focus.  
The tiny flicker of a rapid heart beat. Movement, like a fish swimming in a glass bowl.  
Sam took his hand and held it tight as they both watched the screen.  
Malcolm's eyes blurred and swam.  
He leaned his forehead down, against their two clasped hands.  
Fought for control.  
He was actually watching his own child.  
This small, blurry image was a living thing.  
The sonographer handed him a Polaroid.  
Reaching into his jacket, he tucked it inside his wallet.  
He would keep that precious thing close to his chest. 

They left together, hand in hand, Sam with two more images.  
Then it was back to work, separating as they walked through the office doors, he peeling off and heading left.  
Her going back to her desk, away to the right. 

Sam felt inexplicably tired, over the week following the scan.  
A stultifying weariness, she, up until now, had not felt.  
In fact she'd been blooming.  
The morning nausea seemed to have passed and she looked and felt great.  
Now she suddenly felt exhausted.  
Malcolm had been to Manchester.  
Arriving home late.  
Tired beyond tiredness.  
Thank god it was Friday again and they had the prospect of the weekend spent entirely together.  
He snuggled into her.  
"How's my mother to be?"  
"I feel weary Malcolm, really tired, for some reason. A bit off.....you know?"  
"It's been so manic. I'm not surprised, all the long hours we've been putting in, I'll be glad when things quieten down."  
"I think I'll go up to bed Malc, you coming?"  
"Yeah!" He yawned and stretched.  
In half an hour they were curled together, sleeping soundly. 

oOo

Sam drifted into a profound and deep sleep, she began to dream......  
She was travelling to work, on the tube.  
Standing, holding the rail above her head.  
Further down the carriage, a man snatched a woman's bag.  
The clarity in the dream was astonishing, everything happening in slow motion.  
The woman gave a shout, the youth running down the carriage away from her.  
As the train pulled into a station, he barrelled into Sam, hitting her flush in the stomach, before jumping out onto the platform, and disappearing.  
There was a brief pain.......

Sam's eyes snapped open.  
It was very dark.  
Malcolm was still curled close to her, on his side, one leg resting between her own knees, the other draped heavily over the top, an arm across her body, head tucked into her chest.  
The odd nature of the dream troubled her, and as she gradually returned to reality, there remained and dull ache in the pit of her stomach.  
Thirst wracked her, she felt desperate for water.  
"Malcolm? Malcolm?" She whispered softly, nudging him.  
He stirred, moving closer, a groan of complaint at being disturbed.  
"Malcolm, wake up!"  
His eyes opened.  
"Wassup?" He muttered drowsily.  
"Malcolm, I don't feel well......can you get me some water?"  
He was fully awake then, pulling away from her, sitting up, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, pushing back the cover, reaching for the bedside light.  
"MALCOLM!" A gasp left her, her eyes wide with horror.  
There was blood on his leg, where it had been touching hers.  
The bottom sheet was soaked with it, Sams thighs and shorts a damp mass.  
"OH GOD!" She screamed. 

oOo

Following the paramedic, Malcolm climbed into the back of the ambulance.  
He remembered nothing of the journey whatever, only the terrified look on her face.  
The swing doors slammed open as they swept through.  
He, almost running alongside, she reached pathetically for his hand, and he held it tight.  
"Malcolm!" Her voice pleaded.  
Straight into the crash area.  
He was asked to wait outside, as medics hurried to her side.  
"She's pregnant......something's happened....." He said, helplessly, as the doors closed on him.  
Shutting him out.  
Wandering the corridor. Pacing, pacing. Up and down. Restless. Nerves jangling.  
Unable to even think.  
His brain refusing to function, refusing to face anything other than it would be okay.  
She'd be okay.  
Everything would be fine. 

Two hours passed.  
Malcolm was seated on a plastic chair, his head in his hands.  
Four o clock in the morning.  
"Mr Tucker?"  
He raised his head slowly, numb with weariness.  
The doctor took a seat next to him.  
"I'm sorry Mr Tucker. We couldn't save the baby. There was nothing we could do."  
Malcolm turned, to look at him. Letting the news sink in. But barely registering.  
"Is Sam alright?"  
"Touch and go for a bit. But, yes. We'll have to take her down to theatre, make sure there's nothing left that could cause an infection, if it hasn't all come away she could develop septicaemia."  
"Can I see her?"  
"Of course. I'll take you in."  
Sam lay, pale and drawn, hands atop the covers, IV line dripping rhythmically into the back of one.  
Her face puffy, her eyes red and swollen.  
Malcolm sat down at her side.  
What the hell should he say?  
"Hey!"  
Her face crumbled. Great fat tears rolled unchecked down her face.  
"It's gone Malcolm. I've lost it." Her voice barely above a whisper.  
"I know."  
"I'm so sorry. Malcolm."  
"Good God, Sam, why are you fucking apologising? It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. It's just fucking happened."  
She sobbed, and he stood up, leaning over her, putting his face next to hers.  
"I just thank God I didn't lose you too. Just remember I love you, Sam. So, so much, yeah? So, so much."  
Before he could say or do anything else, the nurse entered with a pre-med.  
"We'll be taking her down to theatre shortly, it'll be at least a couple of hours."  
"Okay."  
He held on to her fingers as they wheeled her away. Until they were pulled apart.  
Still crying.  
He turned to the Doctor.  
"You've got my number. I'm away for a walk." 

oOo

Malcolm stepped out into the cold morning air.  
It was the hour before dawn.  
Quiet.  
Tranquil.  
Early workers just stirring and setting off.  
The odd jogger.  
He walked without purpose, and without conscious thought.  
His mind a dark, yawning maw of emptiness.  
He noticed nothing, the street, the people, nothing.  
No idea where he was.  
After an hour and more than two miles, he slowed, and came to a halt.  
A coffee shop owner was just raising his shutters.  
Malcolm asked for coffee, extra shots.  
Sat down at the clean table, stared, unseeing out of the window.  
The vendor tried to engage him in conversation, but Malcolm neither answered nor even heard what he said.  
The whole world was fucking shit.  
Nothing had meaning any more.  
Malcolm would have to be strong, for her sake.  
Force it down, just as he had as a child.  
Not speak of it.  
It must be buried. Put to bed. Dealt with.  
Things would return to how they were.  
Except she lived with him now, he hoped that would continue.  
They would move on, get on with their lives.  
They still had each other. 

Draining his cup, he left in silence.  
Sauntered back, the way he'd come.  
A woman with a wailing child in a buggy passed him.  
He found himself peering at it, stopping and turning, as she hurried by, watching until she was out of sight.  
Sam was still in recovery when he returned to the hospital.  
"Go home for an hour Mr Tucker, come back at eight. She'll be on the ward by then. If all's well, she can come home tomorrow."  
Dumbly he nodded.  
Hailed a cab. 

oOo

His bedroom looked like a scene from the Chainsaw Massacre.  
Standing in the doorway he surveyed the carnage.  
Then moving forwards in a fury, he ripped and tore at the sheets, hauling them off the bed. His jaw clenched in a rage of sorrow and anguish.  
Bundling them up, throwing them into a black rubbish sack, tying it and taking it outside to the dustbin.  
He threw away everything, including the mattress protector.  
Remade the bed fresh.  
Clothes off, into the shower.  
He'd dressed in such a hurry, there was blood on his trousers.  
Blood on his thigh, there had been so much blood.  
Her blood, his Sam.  
He could have lost her.  
The child was gone, dead, that little fluttering heartbeat stilled before it had ever really lived.  
Except it did.  
In his mind, in his heart.  
Standing under the water, he watched it turn pink and disappear down the plug.  
Her blood, the blood of his child, their child, that he'd now never see.  
He dressed, reached for his phone.  
Dialled.  
Punching the numbers viciously.  
"Glenn? Malcolm!"  
"Malcolm? It's early. What's up?"  
"Listen, Glenn, I know we're not exactly bosom buddies, but I'm taking the week off, there's been a bit of a family crisis. And I need to deal with it. I need you to do me a favour. I had no one else I could ring.  
I need you to make sure the message gets through.....make any excuse you have to. I don't give a fuck. If you need to, text me. Otherwise I don't want to know. Okay?"  
"Okay. Malcolm. It sounds bad. Anything I can do?"  
"Nothing. Just come up with something good yeah? Tell Nicola. There's nothing big happening this week. Make sure she stays out of trouble. And keep that weasel Reeder in line."  
"Will do. You alright Malcolm? You sound done in."  
"I'm A1 Glenn. You know me. The Undead. Just fucking do this for me mate.....can you?"  
"Of course. Anything. What about Sam?"  
"I've called her already. She's taking the week off. Going to family. No need to call her."  
"Okay. Malcolm. Leave it to me. Take care.....yeah?"  
He hung up. 

oOo

With her bits and pieces in a Waitrose carrier bag, Malcolm helped Sam into the car.  
She was exhausted.  
Mentally and physically.  
Worn out with crying.  
She didn't seem to be able to stop.  
Malcolm maintained a rigid cold detachment.  
He hadn't shed a single tear.  
The Doctor said her hormones would be all over the place for a while.  
That was normal.  
She was bleeding too.  
That was also normal, like a period, the doctor said, it would cease after a day or two.  
He put her to bed. Sat down beside her.  
She slept.  
Her shoulders hitching fitfully every so often, with a sob that she could not control.  
Malcolm coaxed her to eat, made her cups of tea.  
Ate virtually nothing himself. Had tried a sandwich, but immediately sicked it back up.  
Couldn't hold anything down.  
Wasn't hungry anyway. 

The week passed in a haze of pain and misery.  
Malcolm prowled the house like a zombie.  
Restless, irritable.  
Unable to sleep or eat.  
Each night he lay awake beside her, as she huddled to him.  
Holding her close.  
Unable to articulate to her, what he felt.  
The great cavernous nothingness that threatened to engulf him.  
At random times she would suddenly be overwhelmed, crumple, start to weep uncontrollably.  
Sinking down to the floor, shoulders shaking.  
Distraught.  
He would kneel beside her, pull her into his arms, hush her.  
Stay until she calmed or slept.  
Then return to his state of inertia.  
With a tumbler of scotch, outside of himself.  
Barely able to function. 

Another week passed.  
He did not return to work.  
Phone calls bandied back and forth.  
Another week to sort out his family crisis, he was sorry but there it was.  
He didn't fucking care anyway. Bollocks to them.

oOo

"Are you going to drink all that?"  
"Probably! So what?" He turned blearily to look at her.  
"Talk to me Malcolm!"  
"What do you want me to say Sam? There's nothing I can say. No words."  
"No tears either!"  
"What's that supposed to mean?" His voice raised in pitch slightly.  
"You can't shut it out Malcolm. You have to face it."  
"Fuck off. I'm dealing with it." He stood up, and made to go to the kitchen.  
"By getting rat arsed every night?"  
"If it helps then, yeah!"  
"It doesn't help though. It just switches you off. Like a robot!"  
She grabbed him, stayed his movement.  
"Don't walk away. Don't bloody shut me out. You haven't so much as touched me, since the bleeding stopped. As if you don't want to any more. As if you're afraid of me. And it's killing me Malcolm. You're killing me!" Her lip was trembling.....  
"You haven't cried. You haven't said anything. It's like you just don't care."  
Malcolm hurled the tumbler across the room, with a suddenness that made her jump back.  
It hit the opposite wall, shattering and splattering the contents onto the pictures and paintwork.  
"DON'T YOU TELL ME I DON'T FUCKING CARE! DON'T YOU DARE!"  
She was bawling now, and it wrenched his heart right out of his body.  
"Oh! For fuck's sake! FUCKING FUCKING FUCK!"  
He stormed away. But she followed after him.  
"Malcolm! Come back here. Talk to me."  
He turned on her, his face portraying more sorrow and pain than she'd ever seen.  
"I can't Sam. Because everything I say will make you cry. And I can't bear it. I can't bear to see you like this. So broken. So fucking miserable. And I did this to you. It's all my fucking fault. I can't bear it anymore. What can I say to you? What? Eh? Nothing! Because it's all fucking pointless. It's gone! Nothing's going to bring it back. It's done. Over. Finished."  
"But we're not finished. The baby may be gone, but we're not finished. Are we? Tell me we still have something here. Speak to me for Christ's sake. Because right now I'm more scared than when I lost the baby. I'm afraid Malcolm. Afraid I'm losing you too. Please! Please, I'm begging you."  
Something snapped then, the realisation of just how much she meant to him.  
He grabbed her, pulling her towards him almost viciously.  
Covering her face with kisses, holding that face between his hands, almost tugging her towards him by her head. Lifting her up to meet his hungry mouth.  
Her tears, her sobs, her desperate moans, as he began stripping her roughly out of her clothes, his hands clutching at her, touching her, kneading her breasts, through her blouse, then ripping it apart, buttons scattering.  
Her hands were on him, with equal urgency, through his trousers, his pulsing, throbbing, straining, erection. She worked them undone, dragging him out, crying out as his fingers went between her legs, as she palmed him eagerly in reply.  
"Sam! My Sam!" he groaned and whispered her name, over and over again, begging, almost pleading, his longing, keening sounds intensifying as he pushed her backwards, down onto the floor, parting her legs, entering her, with an animal lust.  
Throwing his head back, almost in a triumphant roar.  
"Take me Malcolm.....just fuck me! Oh God!"  
They writhed together, half undressed, overtaken by a kind of madness fuelled by hopelessness.  
She lifting herself off the floor, to take him deeper, more fully, to feel all of him, take all he had to give.  
He came, so hard, pumping and pulsing, wailing aloud as he did so.  
"Oh Fuck! Sam. I love you. I fucking love you. You won't leave me Sam? I need you so. Please Sam.  
I'll do anything."  
He collapsed sideways, his hands over his face. As he dissolved into a deep echoing moan. A bestial howl that resonated from his chest.  
"Malcolm. Malcolm. Oh God!" She held him, kissing him, petting him.  
"Malcolm. I love you. Don't shut me out any more. I need you too, so desperately. My darling, my dear one."  
"It's fucking shit. Sam. All of it. I wanted it so fucking much. And I feel like my arm has been cut off. I feel like there's a great big hole right through me. That'll never be filled. Never. And I don't know what to do. I'm sorry Sam. I'm so sorry. I'm such a cunt. Please forgive me!"  
They lay for hours, neither one moving, holding on to each other, they sobbed together.  
And together, they began the process of coming to terms with their loss, and know, that, no matter what, they were a pair. A partnership. Somehow, someway, they would come through. 

oOo

 

"The Leader of the Opposition Malcolm, is in the next room practising walking! I mean, baby horses can walk from the womb. She's one nil down to a pony!"  
"Ben, a pony isn't a baby horse......it's a foal. A fucking foal is a baby horse."  
"Should we get a pony to challenge her?"  
"It's not a fucking pony, Ben, it's a fucking foal!"  
"Sorry. How d'you know so much about horses anyway? I thought you were raised by wolves?" 

"Sam! Can I get a coffee, and a sandwich please. This is going to be yet another fucking shit day!"  
"Sure. Anything else?"  
"Yeah, you'd better switch on the Remembrance Service. I want to see if that cunt of a Prime Minister drops the wreath."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow......life will go on.......


	9. Waste of Skin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicola Murray has become a liability.
> 
> Malcolm finds something that brings back both painful and happy memories.
> 
> Samantha Cassidy says thank you.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are deep into series four territory now.  
> Nicola has to go.......the main scenes to anchor the time frame, are from episode 2.  
> Which includes Nicola's disastrous press conference, and Malcolm's unexplained absence.....now we know where he was!

WASTE OF SKIN.

"She needs to fall on her sword. Which means we need to plant a sword in the ground and trip her over, onto it, then get some fucker to jump up and down on her back."

"Sam I need all the stuff we have on Tickel on my desk. ASAP. Hold my calls for half an hour. I've got some reading to do, and I need some 'me' time."  
"Okay Malcolm. There's a sandwich and a fruit bowl there, with your name on. And don't forget you owe me a contribution to the Charity Day thing.....you've not paid up yet. Everyone's putting a tenner in."   
He looked up, smiled, a brief smile, as she swept out. Closing the door firmly behind her.   
Reaching inside his jacket, Malcolm fished out his wallet, hunted for a £20 note, he was feeling generous.  
Something fluttered out, falling into his lap.   
A Polaroid.  
Malcolm had stowed it there, on that day.   
Forgotten all about it.   
He was instantly transported back.   
Sitting in the clinical room, next to Sam with her stomach exposed and covered in gel.   
That little heartbeat.   
He stared at the blurry image for a moment, lost in thought.   
Then rose hurriedly, rushed out and into the gents. Sam looking up, frozen, as he ran passed.  
Locked in a cubicle.   
He threw up.   
How could it do this to him, even now?   
Thought he'd successfully buried it, months ago.   
But it was back to bite him on the arse.   
The door went, he heard the click.  
"Malcolm?"  
Shit! It was Sam.   
Opening the door, he emerged.  
"You're in the men's."   
"I don't give a shit Malcolm, what's the matter?"   
"Nothing. Just a little queasy that's all."   
"Malcolm Tucker. Don't you dare lie to me!"   
He handed her the photograph.   
Glancing first at it, and then at the pained expression on his face, she gave a sigh and leaned into him.   
Pulling him close, her arms around him, underneath his jacket.   
"Someone'll come in."   
"Fuck them, Malcolm. I don't care."  
For a few seconds she cuddled him there, his own hands coming round, meeting and clasping behind her.   
"You okay?"   
"I guess."   
She pulled his head down to her, so that her lips met his, kissing him sweetly.   
"I'll always remember that day, Sam. It's seared in here, yeah?"  
He put his fingers to his temple.  
"I know, Malcolm. Me too. It's tough. It sucks."   
He pulled back.   
"I have to go."

Back at his desk, he picked up the discarded wallet.   
There was a receipt stuck inside it too.   
About to consign it to the bin, the word 'Washington' caught his eye. It was a meal invoice, from THAT conference.   
The conference where they shared THAT hotel room, the start of everything.  
And the anniversary was tomorrow.   
Malcolm, pushed back his chair, pocketed the wallet.   
Grabbed his overcoat.  
"Sam! I'm away out for an hour. I have my phone and my Blackberry if you need to reach me." 

oOo

"It was the one time, Malcolm, I would actually have been pleased to see you!"  
Nicola, paced.  
He, Helen, Ollie and Nicola, holding a post mortem in the television studio corridor.  
"Where the fuck were you?"  
"Sorry!" He looked sheepish.  
"I'm fucked! Am I fucked? I feel as though I'm fucked."  
She marched away down the stairs. 

oOo

The office was quieter that morning.   
The usual knot of people milling about, curiously absent.   
Malcolm left home early, by car, that morning.  
Sam arrived an hour or so later.   
Plonking her bag down, she switched on her computer.   
Checking as the email notifications began to load up.   
One in particular caught her eye, and frowning, she clicked the mouse, looked at it, made some quick notes and a couple of calls, and went to knock on Malcolm's door.  
"Malcolm! Your two o clock meeting is cancelled. So I've juggled some things around. You have a couple of hours free from 1 till 3."  
Phone clamped to his ear, he looked up, smiled, gave the thumbs up sign, and she returned to her desk.   
It wasn't until lunchtime that she opened her desk drawer, where she usually stashed snacks, to get her, and more importantly, Malcolm, through the day.   
Inside was a small package.   
Sam withdrew it. A little thrill of anticipation shot through her.   
It was a Tiffany box......unmistakable, duck egg blue, tied with ribbon.   
A little note attached. 

"Sam.   
Happy Anniversary.   
You are my life.   
Malcolm. xxxxx"

Inside was a delicate bracelet, made of a double loop of very fine gold chain, and a figure of eight infinity symbol. A little card inside explained that in Feng Shui the infinity symbol represented eternity. The two circles of the eight having no ending and no beginning.   
Inside the Ladies toilet, Sam dabbed her red eyes, wiping away the mascara that had run.   
How had he even remembered?   
So much had been going on lately.   
Brownie Points.   
This called for some serious rewardage.

oOo

 

Malcolm sat back in his chair, picking up the dossiers. Feet on the desk.   
Specs on his nose.   
Two whole hours.   
He settled in for some quiet reading.   
The day before had been a total shit fest.  
Fucking Nicola Murray, the woman was a liability, and why did it all have to hit the fan just as he'd disappeared to go to the shops!

His door opened quietly.   
He looked up, curious, Sam was standing, leaning against it.  
She hoped fervently that he wouldn't notice that she was turning the key behind her back.  
His eyebrows rose, questioning, she looked flushed, excited.   
Slowly she crossed the room, until she stood beside him, reaching across him, she removed his glasses, folded them and set them aside.  
"Sam....I...."  
One finger on his lips.   
"Shhhh!"  
Lifting one leg up and over his, she settled herself astride him, on his lap, and began to loosen his tie.   
"Sam, what are you d......?"   
She stopped his mouth with a deep kiss, her tongue, licking, seeking entrance, teasing his mouth open to her.  
He held on to the arm rests of the chair, gripping them hard.   
Pulling back, biting down on his lower lip, she began to unbutton his shirt.  
"Someone will come in....."  
"Umm mm. Door's locked. No one about."   
His shirt was laid open now, his chest exposed, her hands on him, ghosting over his nipples playfully.  
She hitched up her skirt, revealing lace topped stockings, suspenders and no underwear.   
"Holy fuck Sam."   
Malcolm was suddenly very hard indeed.   
Standing up, his hands under her backside, he lifted her onto his desk, sweeping aside the documents, pens, phone and other stationary.   
Seating her on the very edge, parting her thighs, he sank to his knees.  
"So fucking wet Sam! Jesus!"  
At the first flick of his tongue, she arched herself, allowing him to tease her, his hands stroking her inner thighs, until she began to feel as though she might actually melt.  
"Lord! Malcolm, no one does that like you, holy crap!"   
His eyes looking upwards watching her, her hands tangled in his hair, urging him deeper, eating her out, as she moaned in ecstasies.   
Rising to his feet, his mouth and lips wet with her juices, he began to undo her blouse, kissing her deeply as he did so, the tongue that had so recently been against her cunt, now in her mouth.   
Her beautiful breasts exposed to him, he moved down, suckling her, pulling the nipple, letting her feel his teeth against the tender pink skin, she gasped her approval.   
He knew just how to elicit those sounds from her.   
Pushing him backwards, she worked on his belt and zip, palming him through his boxers, he was wet already too, hot, the vein along his shaft throbbing.   
Bending down, she closed her lips around him, tasting the salty head of his cock, her hand gently massaging those full and aching balls, the skin there so velvety soft and delicate.   
He tried desperately to fuck into her mouth, but she held him still, by his hips, preventing him from thrusting.   
"Fuck.....stop Sam......so close."  
Easing off him with a satisfying 'pop', she leaned back, smiling, pleased with her efforts.  
Parting her legs, invitingly, she whispered,  
"Fuck me, Malcolm, right here on the desk."   
"It would be my pleasure."   
Trousers and boxers round his knees, he pushed himself into her, and she lay back, opened wide for him, her ankles crossed behind his rump.   
Urging him on, as with each powerful stroke of that glorious thickness, he bought her nearer and nearer to whiteout.   
They exploded together, in one great uproarious, triumphant cascade of release.   
Both crying out. Oblivious to the volume of the sounds they were making. 

After a few moments, he pulled out.   
Staggering back, completely spent.   
"Happy Anniversary to you too, Malcolm!"   
Hopping down, and refastening her clothes, she leaned in, kissed him passionately and long.  
Until he gasped for air.  
"Thank you Malcolm, I love it." She waggled her wrist in front of his face, the bracelet shining there. "And I love you too."  
She handed him tissues to clean himself, before she herself tucked him back inside his pants and zipped up his trousers with a smirk.  
"I'm going to the ladies." She murmured,   
"And we're doing this again later, when we get home.......I have big plans for you."   
She winked, sidled around his desk, unlocked the door, and was gone.  
Leaving him standing, thoroughly fucked, alone in his office.   
Decidedly dishevelled and with a desk that looked like a hurricane just hit it.


	10. Je Ne Remember Rien.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries something new with Malcolm .....
> 
> The Goolding Inquiry begins.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've deliberately not gone into too much detail with the Goolding Inquiry. Every TTOI fan knows the episode pretty much off by heart!   
> I would recommend watching though if you haven't.   
> It's season four. Eps 5/6. And it's fucking painful viewing!!

JE NE REMEMBER RIEN.

Events spiralled way out of Malcolm's control.  
Forcing Nicola's hand in calling for an Inquiry into the Tickel affair, backfired spectacularly.  
Calls for the Inquiry to be widened, taking in the whole culture of leaking, spelled potential disaster, not just for him, but for many others.   
All of whom had leaked in the past. 

The months it took to set the wheels in motion, were spent with nose to the grindstone.   
Malcolm had more enemies than Genghis Khan.  
He knew it.  
The hoards were coming for him, over the hill......he had no weapons with which to 'twat the fuckery' out of them, his hands were tied behind his back.   
He knew they would all be only too happy to roast him on a spit, given the chance.  
There were many late night discussions with Sam, on this subject.  
It was a side to her lover that she'd seldom witnessed......  
Malcolm Tucker, being completely honest with her, telling her everything.  
Trusting her.   
No sugar coating, to lull her into thinking everything would be fine, no white lies about what he'd done and hadn't done.  
The false bravado, the confident swagger, the sweary, ballsy, fists in the air Malcolm......he vanished almost completely, especially when he was with her.  
At work he was now sometimes spiteful, malevolent, almost vindictive.   
Ruthless and vengeful.  
But never with her, with her his actions were polarised.  
More loving, more devoted, giving her everything he had.   
He leaned on her heavily, threw himself on her tenderness, his rough days only tempered by her softness.  
Knowing exactly where she stood, Sam mentally prepared herself, soon it would be over.  
In reality, it was over ages before, when Fleming pushed him out.   
Since those pre-election halcyon days, when he was King , he'd been living on borrowed time, stolen glories, past triumphs.  
Those days were now long gone.

Events had changed him, scarred and marked him, and not least his experiences since being with her.   
He was no longer the political force he once was, his race was run.  
Feeling at his most happiest now, when snuggled in bed, in post-coital haze.   
Replete.   
More and more he begged for those 'Sam' nights, as he referred to them.   
When he could hand himself over, let her take him completely, control him totally.   
Edged and desperate, pleading for release, he almost hated it, but equally, adored it and craved it.   
He needed it.   
The longer Sam could make it last for him the better, and the more grateful he became.  
The bigger the end reward, for them both.   
To help him reach that zenith, and after some discussion, sceptical on his part, she pulled the proverbial rabbit out of the hat, a leather cock ring.  
A simple thing, but the first time they used it, the effect was so potent, he almost passed out.   
He found wearing it to be almost a spiritual experience, seminal in the groundbreaking sense, profound and intense.  
It enhanced his erection, his sensitivity, allowed him to last much longer, and come harder, when he was finally allowed.   
Not only did it increase her level of control, which he was so thankful for, it also rendered him doubly eager to please her, lavish her with his attentions, pleasuring her, making sure her payoff was as satisfying as his own.   
The sense of immense freedom it gave him, the depth of emotion it wrung out of him, the raw openness that resulted, were as a healing balm.   
Tearing down every wall, every barrier, heightening sensation, inducing a state of weeping euphoria, that left him naked and exposed, but wonderfully, blissfully fulfilled.   
Satisfied both sexually and on a much deeper emotional level.   
He could float, outside of himself.   
Detach himself from the mental pain, which allowed for its acceptance and expression.   
It released the flood gates, he could let it all go.   
He could confess everything, pour out every ounce of vitriol and bitterness, every victory and plaudit, each youthful horror he'd gone through, his most intimate thoughts and secrets, he confided in her completely.   
Laying, when it was over, spent, but cleansed, cradled safe and warm in her arms.  
Absolved. Forgiven. Completely loved. 

oOo

 

Around the office, he seemed less concerned that people might discover their relationship.  
He simply ceased to care.  
What was it to him, what they thought of him?   
Nothing they could do to him, could be worse than had already been done.  
He worked not towards glory but for damage limitation.  
Ridding the Party of Nicola Murray, purely because he thought they stood a better chance without her.   
Shafting Ben Swain along the way because he was a useless streak of piss.   
Miller, was a slimy turd, but he would make a charismatic Leader, and at a pinch, he might just be able to pull in enough votes.  
Malcolm was fully aware that Dan could be his eventual nemesis.  
He confided as much to Sam.  
She had been on the receiving end of 'The Slimeball's' ( as she called him) unwarranted attentions, not that she'd mentioned it to Malcolm......he would probably have punched his lights out.....but she knew just where he stood......firmly behind Malcolm.......ready to stab him in the back.   
He quickly saw which way the wind blew, where Reeder was concerned too, although he seriously underestimated the lengths to which he'd eventually go.   
Cullen warned him of the fact.  
The one person, who had, at time of crisis, stepped up to the plate.  
Glenn had been decent. Had helped him when he needed it, and hadn't asked why.  
He was weak and ineffectual, but he was a decent man, he'd been around, he'd known many young upstarts like Ollie.  
He'd once BEEN Ollie!   
As the vultures circled, Malcolm prepared himself, readied himself for the onslaught.  
Girded his loins.  
Donned his armour.   
It was going to be messy.

oOo

Right from the beginning it was abundantly clear that the person earmarked to take the brunt of the flack was Malcolm himself.  
One by one they lied, and one by one they foisted as much blame as they could onto his shoulders.   
Sam attended every day.   
She listened as, not only the civil servants like Terri, made certain to mention Malcolm's name, as the big bad wolf, but also the members of the Coalition, and his own Party colleagues.   
The crunch came with the point of acquiring the file, containing Tickel's details.   
"It shows I've got it. It doesn't show me acquiring it."   
"Then who gave it to you?"   
"I don't remember"  
"Are you being deliberately evasive?"  
"I don't recall, I don't know."   
"Okay, so having acquired the records, did you then leak them to the media?"   
"I can't recall. Je ne remember rien."  
"So that's not a denial?" 

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes. She was no longer able to look straight ahead.  
Her gaze cast down.  
Even though she was prepared, it came as a huge shock to her, how thoroughly they shafted him.  
Even the Baroness and Goolding himself, were showing a definite bias against Malcolm.   
How eager they all were.   
How the mighty are fallen. 

 

Yes. Firmly laid at his door.   
Blaming him for everything, because they could not arrest a landmass.....he was dead right.   
'The result of a political class that has given up on morality, and simply pursues popularity at all costs.'   
Well, they'd found their scapegoat.

"Are you finished?"  
"Ha! I'm finished anyway. But you didn't finish me."   
"Would you like to stand down?" 

Sam left her seat quickly.  
Sidled along the row, blinded by tears, out through the door at the back.  
She almost bumped into him as he exited.  
Papers under one arm, jostled by others leaving at the same time.  
Amid the hum of talk and sage shaking of heads, accusative tutting, all of which Sam ignored,  
there were a few people milling about in the corridor, but no press.   
They were all waiting outside, at the front.  
He took her hand. His face grey. Eyes dull and lifeless.   
His fingers clasped hers so tightly.  
"Come on, Sam. Let's go home. I'm done here." 

They slipped out through the back entrance. Malcolm rang ahead, and had the car waiting.  
The loyalty of his driver, was wonderful.   
"Thanks for this John. I appreciate it."   
"Not a problem, Mr Tucker. There won't be any info to the press gleaned from me."  
"It's beyond your remit, I realise, and I'm sorry. I hope it won't get you into any trouble."  
"I work for the car firm, not the Party. Mr Tucker. I'm also a private driver in my own right.   
It's been a pleasure driving you, all this time."  
"I don't think you'll be doing it for much longer, John. They've fucked me over royally. My days are numbered."   
"Well, I'll be sorry. You and Miss Cassidy are the only people who even bothered to know my name, or speak more than three words to me."  
"Aye. Well. That's politics for you.....unless they're canvassing for your vote, they're all tossers!"   
"I drive a lot of them, not just you....I hear all sorts of things, I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised, but I'll say this.....watch that Miller guy, Mr Tucker.....he's poison. Wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."   
Malcolm laughed.  
"Thanks John. I appreciate the heads up!"  
Sam leaned forward,   
"How are the children, John? Did your daughter get the results she wanted?"  
"She did thanks! Kind of you to ask. Listen, I've got a card here, I'll give it to you to pop in your handbag. If you need a car, give me a call.....anytime. Either of you."   
They reached Malcolm's house, mercifully there were no press outside.   
Malcolm shook the driver by the hand. Sam had gone on ahead.  
"Look after that lassie, Mr Tucker, she's a diamond......and she loves you to bits!"   
"I know John. And I will, don't worry. Thank you." 

oOo

Finally.   
Inside, door closed.  
Malcolm visibly sagged.   
"Come on, I'm going to cook us dinner.....you're going to get into a nice hot bath. We'll open a bottle of wine and have a nice evening. Switch the phones off. Relax. Forget about this horrible day."   
"No 'Sam' night?"  
"No, Malcolm, I want an 'us' night."  
"It's going to be shit, you know, all this, it's only just beginning. If they think they have a case, they'll haul me over the coals."  
"They haven't enough to hang you, Malcolm. They'd have to try half the Cabinet, the government, the opposition and the civil service.....it's never going to happen. Even if it does go to trial, you'd be acquitted."  
"Fuck it. I'm not going to think about it now. I'm gonna have that bath.....join me?"  
"I'll get dinner started.....then I'll join you!" 

The bathroom was full of steam.  
Condensation running down the tiles.  
He lay back, eyes shut against the world.  
Bubbles up to his chest.   
Sam lit a couple of candles.  
Undressed herself, as he watched avidly, from under his half closed lids.  
Switched out the main light, and climbed in with him.  
Settling herself between his legs, her back against his chest.  
She sunk down into the glorious warm water, as his arms encircled her.  
The water level perilously close to the rim of the tub.  
Threatening to swamp the floor.  
She leaned back, melting into him, her head resting beside his.  
He sighed deeply.  
She closed her eyes, and they lay thus, in the semi dark, just the soft candlelight to illuminate their faces.   
Resting, immersed, peaceful.   
In silence.  
The rest of the world could drift away.  
It didn't matter any more.   
Nothing did.


	11. We Need to Drop Malcolm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Goolding Inquiry is over, it is the following day.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As regards Malcolm getting arrested.......I've done quite a bit of research here.......  
> In the show we see him being cautioned, and he is then seen outside the police station.   
> It is not specified, if he has been charged or not, and it's my guess that he hasn't.  
> Since it is very ambiguous to me, as to what they could actually charge him with.....it could be perjury (for lying to the Inquiry) or 'misconduct in a public office' (for leaking the medical details), I can see that the evidence is practically non existent and largely circumstantial. It would be almost impossible to prove how Malcolm acquired the Tickel information and from whom, and the photograph ( if that is the sole piece of firm evidence) would never stand up to scrutiny in court, or secure a conviction.   
> In order to investigate Malcolm, the whole of the cabinet, the opposition, Malcolm's colleagues AND the civil servants, would all be liable for investigation too. Since they all, without exception lied.   
> It could also be argued that the Inquiry itself was highly dubious. Baroness Sureka and Lord Goolding were both biased strongly against Malcolm, and a good defence lawyer would rip the Inquiry to shreds.   
> It is my belief that the Crown Prosecution Service would consider the financial burden to the taxpayer far too high, to pursue a case they would be unlikely to win.   
> In short Malcolm would almost certainly not go to prison.....or even be convicted or go to trial at all.

WE NEED TO DROP MALCOLM.

Before dawn Malcolm was seated at the breakfast bar in his kitchen, with a full pot of coffee beside him.  
The memories of last evening still fresh in his mind, he smirked at the thought of it.   
Sam wandered down in her dressing gown.   
He swung around on the stool as she entered.   
Parting his knees , she stood between them, laying her head against his chest, her arms around his middle.   
"Here she is.....my hot sexy bath pal!" He gave a sigh, "Oh fuck Sam, this day cannot be over quick enough."   
There was no answer she could give, other than to pull him a little closer.   
He kissed the top of her head.   
"Did you get any sleep at all?"  
"An hour or so maybe."  
"It'll soon be over Malcolm. And it will be okay. We'll be free."  
"Not for a while we fucking won't. Not if they charge me. I'm fucking shitting myself here. My bloody mother would kill me if she were still alive.....her boy in trouble with the Po lis. Never been known, never was, not as a kid even, it was the thing she was most scared of, in our rough neighbourhood......that her boy'd get himself into trouble. Ha! The fucking irony!"   
"They can't charge you Malcolm, what would they charge you with? Perjury? Misconduct in the workplace? There's not a shred of hard evidence. There would have to be a police inquiry.....into The Inquiry! It could take months."  
"Yeah......months of fucking limbo......and press.....and who knows what the fuck else."  
She took his face in her hands, and kissed his lips.   
"We'll get through this. We've come through so much, together, the two of us. You've got me and I've got you. And we'll be okay. I believe it, truly."  
"What time is it?"   
"It's not quite six."  
"I have to get ready......"  
She backed away and he hopped down from the stool, reaching for his jacket and overcoat.   
"Malcolm, just remember......I might not get the chance to tell you, once we're at the office.   
But I love you, Malcolm Tucker. Just remember that, all day......every time you think something can't possibly be worse, just stop for a second, and think.....'Sam loves me.' Okay?"   
"I'll do that Sam, it'll keep me going, if I don't get the chance to see you, I'll see you back here tonight. It'll all be over then....bar the shouting. And you know I fucking love you to bits don't you? You're my life. You're everything, you're all I need, all I want."   
He clung to her so close, she could hardly breathe. His emotions in turmoil, more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him.   
A toot from outside.   
"My car's here. I gotta go."  
"Bye Malc. Don't forget, okay?"   
"I won't. See you later."   
From the doorway, she watched him hurry down the path, and into the car.   
Going to she knew not what fate.

oOo

Things at The Norman Shaw Buildings were manic to say the least.   
Malcolm was ensconced with Ollie and Dan Miller, for a good part of the morning.  
As they emerged, Sam was walking passed the now open door.   
Peering in, to see if Malcolm was till there, she was just in time to overhear the tail end of Dan and Reeder's conversation.   
"We need to drop Malcolm."   
Sam froze.   
So this was how it stood.   
She saw it all in an instant......she had to warn him.  
It was imperative.  
They barrelled into each other in the corridor.  
"Sam. Get me Greg Fraser on the phone, I need some serious lawyer action."  
"Malcolm.....I have to speak to you......"  
"Yes, roses.....for my mother, it's her 80th Birthday.....a lovely bouquet of pink ones....."  
Ollie, walked past.   
It was too late.  
Malcolm followed The Weasel into his office and shut the door firmly behind them.  
Sam rushed back to her desk.  
Reaching for her phone she sent a text.

"Miller and Reeder are going to drop you in it. Be careful. ILY. S xxxx"

But the time she returned to the corridor, she could hear Malcolm's raised voice through the office door.  
"You know Jackie Fucking Chan about me......."  
Miller was gathering the troops, preparing for the visit to Lewisham Police Station, hopefully she would have the opportunity to speak to Malcolm then.  
Hanging around, trying not to look too obvious.   
Miller and his entourage passed by her,   
"Ms Cassidy, would you happen to know where I can find Oliver Reeder?"   
If the look on her face didn't tell him what she was thinking, her words probably did the trick.  
"I neither know nor care." She spat, moving away. 

oOo

Fortunately for Sam, she missed most of the debacle of the press core chasing Malcolm down the street at Brentford, as she didn't have the screen on in front of her.   
Naturally she was also not present when Malcolm phoned Ollie from the cab, begging for his dignity, if she had she been she would probably have personally rearranged his testicles.  
But she wasn't.   
He was with Miller, at Brentford.   
She did, however switch on the television in Malcolm's office, and watched, in tears, as he, first went into Hackney Police Station, surrounded by a scrum of press.   
Then, after some short while, reemerging to stand beside Greg, on the steps outside, as the statement was read out. 

Well. That was it then.

It was over.   
Both his political career, and her own, working for him.  
After all this time, almost eight years, she couldn't see herself working for anyone else.   
What the bloody hell was she going to do? 

She shook her head, cross with herself.  
None of that mattered now.   
She had to get home, she needed to be there.  
He would want her, he would need her, and she would be there. 

From her desk drawer, she emptied her things into a cardboard box.   
She went into Malcolm's office, went through the drawers and cupboards, for anything she knew belonged to him.   
Stowing them with her own, there were also some paper dossiers......his 'dirt' files.   
All the grubby info he'd collected on various people over the years.   
She had the files backed up to her home computer, she had the discs and the memory sticks, but she boxed the files too.   
No one else would get their hands on them.  
Collecting her bag and coat.   
She left the Norman Shaw Building for the last time. 

 

oOo

There were thirty or more press people outside, when she arrived home.   
Climbing out of the car, she tried to march through them.  
A microphone was thrust into her face. 

"It's Miss Cassidy isn't it?"

"Where is Malcolm Tucker?"

"Has he been arrested, is he out on bail?" 

"Why are you here?" 

They wouldn't let her through.   
One stood in her way, blocking her path, they jostled her.   
With a sudden roar, they parted like the Red Sea.

"Get the fuck away from her!" 

"Mr Tucker, do you have anything to say, why is she here?" 

"She's here because she lives here, now fuck off the lot of you, before I call the police. And watch my fucking hedge!" 

"Wait.....she lives here? Mr Tucker, can't we have a statement?" 

"You can, here's my statement. I was arrested and interviewed under caution. I've been charged with nothing. I have been released on unconditional bail, pending a Police investigation. I'm an innocent man. And I can prove it. Sam is here because she lives here and has done for almost a year. Yeah.....put that in your fucking papers! Fucking headline news.....Malcolm Tucker is in a long term relationship with his PA. Now fuck the fuck off!" 

He grabbed the box from Sam and together they went inside.   
He shut the door firmly behind him, and dropped the box on the floor.  
He grabbed Sam by her coat, and pulled her into a passionate, deep and long kiss.   
Unaware of several flash bulbs, as their reflection could be clearly seen though the glass.

oOo

The police arrived the following day through prior arrangement, to take a written statement.  
Malcolm and Greg were with them for quite a while.   
Press were permanently camped outside.  
At lunchtime Glenn Cullen arrived.   
He fought his way through the maelstrom and Sam let him in.   
"God, it's mental out there!"  
"I went to the Police Station, yesterday, to hand myself in, then I thought, bugger it, why should I be the one? I mean......they all bloody lied!"  
"Would you like coffee Glenn?"   
"Please. Is it true Sam? What I read in the morning paper? About you two?"  
"'Fraid so!"  
"Christ! How have you managed to keep it quiet? I mean.....how long?"  
"Nearly eighteen months, give or take!"   
"EIGHTEEN MONTHS!! I don't believe it! You can't have hidden it that long!"  
"We got together at the Washington Conference, before Malcolm's run in with Fleming."   
"You sly buggers! Well I never did! I'll bet you any money that the main topic of conversation at DoSAC this morning is you pair!!"  
"Aren't you going back, Glenn?"   
"Nope. I'm done. I'm going to go down to Wales for a while to my sister. Then I'll come back and look for something else. Do you think it'll go to trial, Malcolm?"  
"Greg thinks it's highly unlikely, but it'll be a while before we know. Meanwhile I'm free to come and go. So we're going.....at least for a while."   
"Where to?"  
"We rented a cottage, up in Scotland, last year. Belongs to a friend of a friend. We loved it. Best time we've ever had.....hey Sam?"   
He drew her to his side, she smiling up at him.   
"So I've taken it for the rest of the summer.....it's July now, so it'll be lovely up there, then the Autumn will be beautiful. So maybe we'll stay till the kids go back to school or maybe the middle of September."  
"Sounds wonderful. What will you do then?"  
"Fuck knows......write a book probably.......'Tucker's Luck' !"   
"Hey, I meant to say......you know Stewart Pearson got the boot?"  
"Well, there's an idea right there......we two could go into business......Tucker and Pearson Inc.....has a certain ring to it!"   
"Worst comes to the worst I can always send Sam out on the game!"   
He kissed her, with a laugh.   
Glenn looked from one to the other of them, in disbelief.   
"Bloody cheek!" Sam punched his arm playfully, in response.  
"I can't get over you two. Look at you both......I can't believe no one even noticed, or nothing was ever said. You must have been incredibly careful."   
"My driver knew, that was all. But he wasn't going to say anything."  
"Well, I'm bloody happy for you both. You deserve it. And looking at you, it's definitely the right thing. You're very lucky."   
"I'm the lucky one." Malcolm said gently, "lucky she'd even look at a cunt like me."   
"I must go. I wish you all the best. Keep in touch and let me know when you hear about the trial, you may need some extra support. Good luck to you both." 

As soon as everyone had gone and things quietened down, Malcolm and Sam packed.   
They set off at four in the morning, long before the press pack were even up and about.   
Let them wait outside an empty house for a couple of days.  
Serve them right!   
The police had the address of the croft cottage.  
Not that Malcolm expected to hear from them for at least three or four months, possibly more.  
He was determined he was not going to concern himself with the prospect of a trial.   
He refused to dwell on it.   
If Greg Fraser was right, it would never happen, and if he was wrong?   
Well, Malcolm would deal with that if it came to it.   
What he needed now was some well earned R&R......some time just him and Sam.   
He wanted to take stock. Think about his future.   
Decide what he wanted most in life, and pursue it.   
That future had to include Sam, and as long as she was a part of it, nothing else was important.


	12. Caledonia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Malcolm return to the croft cottage.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my own many many trips to my spiritual homeland......

CALEDONIA. 

The thing that Malcolm liked best about being in Scotland, apart that is, from being alone with his Sam, was the gloaming.   
Something that is unique to that place.   
The days were long in the summer.   
Evening fell with a soft mellow touch that gently closed down the day.   
As the sun sank below the horizon, huge and shimmering, it seemed to tint the whole Glen with a glow of rich golden opalescence.  
The light dwindled slowly, inexorably, and the sky took on a soft pastel palette, pinks and purples, reds and oranges.   
The colours merged and faded, darkened and melted, then died gently away.  
Gradually the night sounds replaced the day.   
Birds quietened and fell silent, bats flitted in manic circles overhead.  
The sharp bark of a fox, or mysterious rustle of some unseen night creature, with only two opaque eyes catching a glint of light, to give away its presence, peeping out at them from amongst the bracken.

A peaty, warm smell, fresh and clean, a scent of pine needles and heather.  
It could be warm, even humid, and moths would dance around the candle flame, wings whirring, buzzing and flickering as the evening sky lost its azure blue and the stars began to appear.  
Tiny pin pricks at first, then brighter and clearer, as the darkness gathered, twinkling bravely above their heads, the Milky Way stretching in a long frosty line, like the trail of a cosmic snail, whirling above them.  
Malcolm would drag an old armchair outside by the cottage door.  
Wrap himself and Sam in a tartan rug, a tumbler of malt whiskey each.  
The warm amber liquid tasted of the very sod beneath their feet, the peat, the heather, the bracken, the brown water that flowed down the hillside, tumbling and chattering like children's laughter.  
It stayed on the tongue, heated the throat and gave the stomach an inner glow, a peaceful drowsiness, that smoothed out cares and worries, rounded the sharp edges of anger and pain, soothed the soul. 

She would sit, snug and warm, across his lap, as they listened to the hoot of an owl and felt the dew begin to fall.   
The heavy silence, punctuated by no artificial sound at all.   
No traffic, nor aircraft, no insistent ringing phone. No loud music, other than the music of the night.   
Together, they would sit, until finally the sky was wholly a velvety black, and sleepiness drove them inside. 

Curled, then, in the enormous soft downy bed, with it's Victorian iron bedstead, it's hand made patchwork quilt, it's fluffy pillows.  
Akin to existing inside a cocoon, wrapped, cosseted, protected, feeling nothing but the delicate silkiness of her skin, against his own.  
Burying his face into her long brunette locks, smelling of shampoo, lavender, and the scent that was essentially her......which he loved so dearly.   
Nights where they made love over and over, just completely and utterly wrapped up in each other.   
No harm could touch them, nothing there that could break that sacred bond.  
Sometimes slow, sensual and passionate, sometimes urgent, burning and lustful, needing nothing more than the closeness of the other, the physical union, without the trauma and sorrows of the months before.

Both were transported back to another time, before the maelstrom of the election, before the child they almost had, marred and broke them, before the waves of the political tsunami crashed against them, battering and bruising them.   
Returning to when they first stayed here, after Malcolm's 'resignation' at Fleming's hands.   
When their love was still new and untested, when they were still discovering just how much each meant to the other. When Malcolm had thought to walk away, and leave his world behind, but never quite had the guts to make the break. 

Those feelings recaptured, refreshed.   
As a couple they were washed clean, and made whole.   
Batteries recharged.   
Something about that stone croft cottage, hugging the hillside, in the middle of nowhere, it captured and held fast some little spark of magic, a tiny piece of stardust, and it transformed them both, relaxed them, gave them peace and made them feel as one. 

Malcolm spent every possible moment with Sam.   
He was up early, as always, cooked them breakfast, or took it up to her in bed, if she was still dozing.   
They would potter about in dressing gowns, have fantastic morning sex, then shower, usually together, dress and read a book or a newspaper, if they could get one from the nearest village post office.  
Drive out somewhere, maybe for lunch, or visit a small town, Oban perhaps or Ullapool.  
Bought fresh fish from the boats, to take home for supper.   
They donned stout shoes and tramped the hills, skirting the loch, with its dark inky water. Walked miles, in sun and wind and rain.  
Returning exhausted, to bathe together, eat together, talk and laugh together.

If the day had been warm, they sat outside in the evening air. If chilly, and it could turn cool as July became August, August turned to September, Malcolm would light the fire and they would snuggle up together on the rug in front of the flames.   
Some evenings they visited the local inn, and sat in the snug, with a plateful of something delicious, and a wee dram. Other nights they cooked for themselves, Malcolm loved to cook, they ate at home, in the comfortable kitchen, the Aga burning warm and cozy.  
They didn't often watch television, occasionally listened to music, but mainly just enjoyed the tranquility, the joy of each other's company.  
Talking way way into the night, discovering every nuance of each other's character, their pasts, their present, their hopes for the future.   
Malcolm talked a great deal about what was to come.  
What he would do, the mistakes he wouldn't make again.   
How he wanted Sam to be an integral part of that future. How deeply he loved her.   
These long discussions invariably ended in love making, which, for Malcolm was an essential part of the deep attachment he felt for her.   
A constant need to prove, to affirm, to be reassured. 

Travelling to Glasgow, they spent some time with Malcolm's family.   
Brother and sister weeping together as they spoke of their childhood, she, Nancy, aware of the horrors he'd suffered but too young and afraid to lift a hand to help him.   
Then he was gone, leaving her at home, run away to London, and their father pale and jaundiced, a bastard till the end.   
Their mother perpetually in denial until her own dying day.   
Sam seeing Malcolm interact with his nephew and niece. Breaking down at the sight, being comforted by Nancy, confessing privately to her, of the child she'd lost, the pain spilling out of her like acid rain. 

Autumn days grew shorter. The heather on the hills browned and was burned.  
A smokey haze across the moorland.  
September hastened onwards, it was almost time to leave.  
Malcolm had heard nothing from Greg Fraser, or the police.   
He did not see that as a sign, or an omen, he'd ceased to think about it at all.

Their last night in the cottage, was poignant and emotional.  
Neither had any wish to live there permanently, but it was a wrench to go, because they had known so much happiness there.   
Sam dissolved into floods of tears when Malcolm made love to her on that final night.   
He held her so close, was so particularly gentle and tender, their bodies moving together, undulating as one, he so deep inside her, so focused on completion. Looking down on her as he bought her to such heights, that she felt she would burst asunder.  
She cried out, as he spilled himself inside her, whispering to her as his cock pulsed within her,  
"Come for me Sam.......come for me now.....I want to see you.....love to see you......so beautiful."   
She screamed his name, invoking the gods above, taking him as deep as was physically possible, then breaking down, weeping, as he hushed and held her, still inside her.   
Before rolling away, hot and wet, but clinging to her still.   
Not letting her go, his mouth against hers, lips touching, not relinquishing his tight hold, until she calmed and cried herself out.   
"Oh God, Malcolm, is it really possible to love someone so much, be so happy?"   
"Before I met you, I'd have said, no, emphatically, no.......but now.......now I truly believe it is possible. I believe in the whole concept of soul mates. Love of your life. The whole cahooney.......because it's happened......how can I now deny it? It's real."  
"Thank you Malcolm. Thank you for loving me."  
"I'm the one who should be thanking.....who else would have taken me on? Who else would even have looked beyond the external? No one. I'm the luckiest man alive."

Laying together in the dark, they eventually drifted into a deep sleep.   
Sam dreamed.......she could hear weeping, she dreamt it was her child, and she thought her heart would break......quiet sobs.   
Coming to, she found Malcolm curled against her, slumbering fitfully, but her breast under his head was wet.

He was crying in his sleep.

They travelled back to London the following morning.   
Both subdued, strangely silent.  
Neither knew what the immediate future held.  
But they were fortified, rested, and ready face whatever might come.


	13. Trick or Treat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Halloween.........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little humour and banter for you in amongst the angst , for this chapter!   
> The letter is based as much on the official one as I can make it, with a few changes to fit the story obviously......

TRICK OR TREAT?

Piles of correspondence and junk mail blocked the doorway.  
Malcolm had to kick it aside before they could enter.  
The hedge needed trimming.  
Plant pots full of weeds.  
The house strangely fusty smelling and unlived in.  
Cold and unwelcoming.  
They soon had the boiler on, the heating pummelled back into life....  
And the kettle.....tea, the cure for everything from melancholy to colic.  
Sam threw open the windows for an hour to air the place.  
Threw a pile of laundry in the washing machine.  
Popped to the supermarket, while Malcolm sifted through the letters.

Nothing from the police or from Greg. 

Had he really expected it?  
Not yet.  
There was a stultifying reluctance in Malcolm, a quiet refusal to look forwards until he knew for certain what was to be.  
A sense of breath held, fingers drumming, toe tapping......  
If that letter would just come, saying yay or nay.  
So he knew what he'd be facing, trial or no trial.  
Although he was alright for money, he couldn't survive indefinitely, some kind of decision had to be made.  
Soon.  
Sam felt the same way.  
Should she seek employment?  
Or could they somehow work together, after all, they were The A Team.  
Knew each other so well.  
It would work, they'd already proved it. 

 

oOo

As October progressed, Sam soon discovered that a Malcolm Tucker without purpose, occupation or vocation, was a difficult person to be around.  
It had been different in Scotland, he had relaxed and let go, and needed to, found it easy.  
Now he was back, within spitting distance of a large part of his life, a part that was now closed off to him.  
He was like a dog without a bone.  
His motivation had been taken away.  
It ate away at him slowly, made him tetchy and irritable. 

"Malcolm.....you might wait a year before you hear from the CPS. You need to decide what you're going to do. You can't procrastinate any longer. Or, I swear to god, I'm going to knock you over the head with a frying pan, and bury you under the floorboards, and tell everyone you've run away to Venezuela."  
Malcolm frowned, then smiled.  
"Is it that fucking bad?"  
"Yes, Malcolm, it is......if it wasn't for the amazing sex, I'd have already done it by now! Seriously!  
You prowl around the house with a scowl like a caged lion on heat. Do something! For the love of God and my sanity."  
She handed him a cup of coffee, which he took and sipped contemplatively.  
"I was thinking of starting up a Consultancy, you know, media, communications, troubleshooting, that sort of thing."  
"Sounds ideal.....and something you're bloody good at, the best, in fact.....need a PA?"  
Malcolm laughed, and pulled her to his side, his lips touching hers gently, then becoming more insistent and determined.  
"I'll only take you on as my PA, if I'm allowed to do this, any time I feel like it." he said, pulling back, tracing her cheek with his thumb.  
"I'm not actually sure you can afford me.....I come highly recommended you know......I have a fine CV and references, eight years in the same employ......."  
"Seriously......would you work with me though? Alongside me? Help me to set it up?"  
"Malcolm, of course I would! I can do all the admin, all the back office stuff, that's what I'm good at....."  
"Do you think anyone would actually want to hire me though?"  
"Are you kidding? Of course they would.....your reputation as a Director of Communications, is second to none, everyone knows how bloody good you are......except this time you can pick and choose, you don't have to work for tossers like Miller and Co."  
"Fuck it all Sam....you've got me fired up now! I could start next week!"  
"Hold your horses, Tiger! Take some time, Malcolm, you need to look at your finances, do some research......you'll need an office eventually, but you can start by working from home, you'll probably need a business plan, if you're going to need to borrow money to set up....although it shouldn't take much, you'll need to get yourself an accountant, set up a Limited Company......have stationary printed and all that gubbins.......there's lots to look into......but I can help, we'll do it together. It'll be exciting.  
You and me......yeah?"  
"Fuck yeah!" He took her into his arms and twirled her round, lifting her up off the floor.  
"I fucking love you. I feel happier today than any time since we got back.....and it's because of you."  
"You just needed a kick up the arse, Malcolm.....and you can always rely on me to do that! Otherwise you have a habit of sinking into the 'slough of despond'. It's unhealthy, it's destructive, you just need a push sometimes that's all. It won't be all plain sailing.....but we can do this.....okay?"  
"Yeah! We can....if you're beside me I can do anything."

 

oOo

"What the fuck is that for?"  
"It's a pumpkin! What does it look like?"  
"I know it's a fucking pumpkin, der! But what's it doing here?"  
"I'm going to carve it, and put a tea-light inside, and put it by the porch for when the all the street's children come round 'trick or treating'."  
"Fucking ridiculous commercial bollocks......foisted on us by the sodding yanks! Never had trick or treating when I was a bairn!"  
"Okay....Ebeneezer......you can be an old meany if you want.....in fact I'll send you to the door, when they knock.....you won't even have to dress up.....you can just give them your best vampiric Bela Lugosi, you'll scare the crap out of them!"  
"You're dressing up? What the fuck for?"  
"I've got a witches outfit! It's fun Malcolm! Remember fun?"  
"Not my idea of fun!"  
"You'll change your tune later......I've got lots of fun in mind for you too!"  
"For me?" His eyebrows raised, his glance vaguely amused and intrigued.  
"Heck yeah! A really naughty night.....you're going to be begging for this witch to release you from her spell by the end of it!"  
"Fuck me! You're making me go hard just thinking about it."  
"Good!! Your anticipation does half my work for me!"  
He wandered into the kitchen, following in her wake, like a love sick puppy.  
"Christ! What are all these.......cookies...?" He reached out to snatch one.  
Sam smacked his fingers.  
"Mitts off! They're gingerbread men and they're not iced yet.....they're still warm from the oven......I'm going to make them into little ghosts......"  
"Why don't you bugger off Malcolm, go and have a much needed shave.....unless you're thinking of dressing up as Gandalf.......or make yourself useful and go fetch the post? I just heard the box clang, so I know the postman's been."  
Malcolm pinched a warm cookie from the cooling rack and ran off down the hallway with it, with a whoop of triumph, before she could stop him.  
Minutes later he returned, the biscuit stuffed half way into his mouth as he sorted through the letters.  
He paused. Then froze. Taking the other half in his hand dropping a shower of crumbs, and putting it to one side.  
"SAM!"  
"What is it?"  
"Look!"  
He held a very official looking brown envelope in his hand. In the top left hand corner were the letters 'CPS.'

"Shit! Malcolm.......open it."  
His fingers trembled.  
"I can't. You do it."  
He passed it to her, and then stood to one side as she tore open the top.  
She took out the contents, opened the A4 page slowly and scanned it hurriedly.  
Her eyes darting over the words, as Malcolm held his breath, pale and silent.  
She read aloud, her voice hardly above a whisper......

 

_"Dear Mr Tucker,_

_We are writing to inform you of the Crown Prosecution Service decision regarding your case._

_Each case the Prosecution receives from the Police is reviewed to make sure it is right to proceed with a prosecution. In more complex and serious cases such as this prosecutors are responsible for deciding whether a person should be charged with a criminal offence, and if so, what that offence should be._

_We have now received the appropriate representation from the police in charge of investigating the allegations levelled against you._

_Following these investigations, a prosecutor has read these representations and has decided that regarding;_

_A)The charge of perjury_

_(pertaining to The Goolding Inquiry, which took place on the 12th July inst.)_

_The prosecutor has determined that there is insufficient evidence against the defendant and that it is not in the public interest to pursue this charge through the criminal courts._

_B)The Charge of Misconduct in the Workplace._

_(Pertaining to the leaking of confidential patient medical records of Mr. D Tickel. Deceased.)_

_The prosecutor has determined that the existing evidence provided to the police following the Goolding Inquiry is unreliable. There is, therefore no realistic prospect of conviction in this case and the public interest will not be served by pursuing it._

_We are therefore pleased to inform you that no criminal charges will be bought against you by the Crown Prosecution Service._  
_You are entitled to view the decision of the CPS and are advised to do so at the earliest opportunity._  
_All matters pertaining to this case will now be dropped........."_

 

There was more, but Sam could no longer see the words, as, blinded by tears, she looked up from the page.  
Malcolm sunk gradually down to the floor as she read, onto his knees, there in the kitchen, surrounded by fallen gingerbread crumbs.  
Weeping, inconsolably.  
She knelt down beside him, holding his trembling body to hers and stroking his steel grey hair,  
as the relief and pent up anxiety he'd forced down, all these months, rose, bubbling to the surface and spilled out.  
"It's over Malcolm." She sobbed alongside him.  
"It's finally over. We're free."  
"Fuck! Sam....hold me......fucking hold me.......you've got me, yeah?"  
"I've got you Malcolm. Always."  
It was more than half an hour before he calmed enough for her to help him to stand,  
put on the kettle, and fetch him a cool flannel to wipe his swollen face. 

oOo

"Who are you ringing?"  
"Greg Fraser!"  
"Why, Malcolm?"  
"Because I want to find out what they discovered in their investigations....and why they're so fucking quick to drop it, and what they mean by 'evidence is unreliable."  
"Does it matter? Wouldn't it be better to just let it drop?"  
"It may be no big deal. But it says in the letter that I'm entitled to view the evidence and the decision.......so I'm gonna."  
He turned to look at her, and his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.  
"Fucking fuck me!"  
"You like?"  
She held her arms out to the side and did a little twirl.  
"When you said 'a witch'.....I was thinking Macbeth......not fucking Elizabeth Montgomery!!  
Fuck, but you look so hot........oh.....and there we go......straight to my groin! Jesus, but you know how to make a man ache, Sam. Fucking hell!"  
"Does this mean you've revised your miserly opinion of fun on Halloween?"  
"Fuck yeah! Holy shit!"  
"I'm very glad to hear it.....because later, you'll be wearing your leather ring.........and I am going to conjure up a bit of magic.......do you think you might deserve that?"  
"Fuck it all, Sam.......dunno if I deserve it.......but I want it, you know how I want it....how I love what you do........shit.........I'm hard as a witches broomstick already!"  
"I think we both deserve a little celebration, after today's news. It's the best news possible.  
It doesn't get much better than this.....now we can really plan for the future. In the meantime, I'm going to make you 'Bewitched' !!!"  
"I can't fucking wait!"  
"Well, you'd better be on your best behaviour, and show how nice you can be when the children start knocking on the door then, hadn't you!"


	14. Well, Fuck a Pot Noodle!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm doesn't like clothes shopping.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some real events woven into this chapter.......

WELL, FUCK A POT NOODLE! 

 

"Well, that went well!"  
Sam and Malcolm emerged from a meeting with Malcolm's bank manager.  
The carefully prepared business plan that Sam helped draft, clutched under his arm.  
"I'm really pleased Malcolm. In fact it went better than I could ever have hoped."  
"We're really doing this aren't we? Shit! It's fucking brilliant. I'm actually going to do this. Could never have done any of it without you though!"  
"You alright Sam, you look a bit peaky?"  
"Yeah......you know, I think that prawn sandwich disagreed with me, my stomach feels jippy!"  
"I wanted to pop into John Lewis.....but I can leave it if you don't feel well."  
"No, I'll be fine.....I know you wanted to go, and you desperately need some new shirts."  
It was sometime later that Malcolm, reappeared from the men's changing room.  
Scowling.  
"I fucking hate clothes shopping."  
Sam sighed, resignedly.  
"I liked the blue, but the checked one makes you look like a lumberjack."  
"For fucks sake! That's the one I liked best. Bollocks to it, I'm putting them back. Let's fuck off home."  
"Well, you might as well have the blue one....at least it's something."  
"Oh fuck! Look at the fucking queue!"  
"It's moving quickly Malc.....go pay!"  
As Malcolm joined the back of the line with a huff, Sam gazed idly about her.  
Why were these bloody shops always so damned hot?  
It was like an oven. She felt, suddenly as if she were being slowly boiled.  
She grasped the rail next to her, and swayed slightly.  
Sod it, she didn't feel well, her head swam, she was uncomfortable, clammy and sweaty......

oOo

......Sam opened her eyes.  
Looking up into Malcolm's pale, frightened face, above her.  
"What happened?" She murmured.  
People gathered round, Malcolm was kneeling, holding her head, his arm under her, half lying, half sitting.  
"Sam! Darling, are you okay?"  
A member of staff bought her a glass of water.  
Malcolm sat her up slowly. Then helped her unsteadily to her feet.  
She was taken to the canteen, where they sat her down, gave her sweet tea and a biscuit.  
"I don't know what happened." Her head felt fuzzy, unfocused.  
"You passed out."  
From his place in the queue, Malcolm had turned to speak to Sam, just as she seemed to blanch right in front of him. The colour draining from her, and her eyes rolling up into her head in an alarming fashion.  
He reached her in a second as she seemed to fold, sinking down, his arm coming around her, easing her to the floor. She was only out for a few seconds, then her eyelids fluttered and she was back in the room .  
"I feel better now. No need to fuss. I told you I felt off, it was that bloody sandwich."  
Once they were home, Malcolm was all care and concern.  
Sitting her on the couch, fretting around her.  
"Malcolm, I'm fine. I just fainted. It was so bloody hot in that shop."  
"Don't you think you should go see the quack?"  
"What because I fainted? Don't be daft! I'm fine now. It was nothing. I've fainted before."  
"When?"  
"When I was a teenager.....several times.....when I had a really bad period....."  
"You're not bleeding now are you?"  
"No.....last week. But I don't think it's anything, I just didn't feel well, that's all. I'll be fine."  
Malcolm accepted her explanation and by the end of the week it was all but forgotten.

oOo

"Why do we have to do this now?"  
"Because you need new clothes and you didn't get anything last time."  
"But I told you.....I fucking hate clothes shopping and if I hear bloody Slade, or Wham or the fucking Pogues, I swear to god I'm going to have a seizure."  
"It's Christmas music, Malcolm, what do you expect?"  
"It's fucking November.....and they start playing it in September......they shouldn't be allowed to play it until the week before Christmas.....by law!"  
"Bah, humbug! Come on, Mr Scrooge. Men's department. You. Shirts. Trousers. Shut up!"  
They left an hour or so later, with an armful of purchases.  
"I'm thirsty, and I need a piss!"  
"God, Malc! It's like carting round a bloody toddler. Fine, we'll go into Starbucks...."

oOo

Sam kicked off her shoes, as they walked in through the front door.  
"I'm going straight in the shower, my feet are killing me."  
Malcolm threw down his carrier bags.  
"I'm cooking tonight.......cannelloni.........have we got a bottle of red?"  
"Yep, there's a Rioja in the rack."  
Malcolm unpacked his ingredients, and rolled up his shirt sleeves.  
He could hear Sam padding about upstairs, humming to herself, then a hiss as the shower water was switched on. 

Then an almighty crash.

Malcolm sprinted up the stairs two at a time.  
"SAM! SAM!"  
"Oh, my fucking Christ!"  
She lay on the floor in the bathroom.  
Out cold.  
In knickers, bra and a t-shirt.  
"SAM! Oh fuck! SAM!"

She groaned slightly, as she began to come round, there was no blood that he could see, but he was sure she must have banged her head as she fell.  
Did she fall? Had she slipped?  
The floor was dry.  
He cradled her, smoothing back her hair from her forehead.  
"Sam! My darling! What the fuck happened?"  
"I'm not sure....." she was dazed, confused. Her eyes not fully focused.  
"I must have passed out, I felt dizzy......then, it all went black."  
"I'm phoning the paramedics......"  
"No.....Malcolm....I'm okay......really!"  
"Fuck off.....I'm phoning them, I don't care if you think you're okay or not, I'm phoning them." 

oOo

Sitting in the corridor of A&E, Malcolm had horrible deja vu moments.  
The last time he was here, was THAT awful day.  
No!  
Stop it, don't think about that Malcolm!  
Just fucking don't.  
Don't fucking go there.  
Shit! He was shaking.  
A whirlwind of thoughts were tumbling through his head, everything from mild migraine to brain tumour, and God knows what in between.  
He paced. Wrung his hands. Ran his fingers through his hair. Rubbed his eyes.  
Fuck! Fucking fuck!  
Supposing there was something badly wrong with her?  
It just didn't bear thinking about.  
Malcolm's mind was mush, unable to function in a coherent fashion.  
The doctor, came walking purposefully towards him, stethoscope swinging in his hand.  
"Mr Tucker, you can come and see her now, we're going to keep her in....at least overnight."  
Malcolm followed him, Sam was stretched out on a trolley, in a cubicle, wired up to a monitor.  
"We've taken some blood, and done some tests, should have the results in a while." 

The doctor disappeared.  
Malcolm pulled up a chair.  
"Malcolm, don't look so bloody stricken. I'm alright, I just fainted that's all, I'm sure it's nothing major."  
His lip quivered.  
"Just..........just....just fucking don't.......okay Sam? Just fucking.....be alright yeah.....? I just want everything to be.......back to normal again."  
"Why don't you go and get yourself a coffee, while you wait for the doc to come back?"  
"No. I'm staying here, with you. Fuck, Sam....I'm useless at this....I'm supposed to be strong and tell you it'll be okay, but I'm fucking shitting myself. I'm sorry. I'm such a useless cunt." 

 

oOo

It was more like a couple of hours before the doctor returned.  
Accompanied by a nurse.  
Malcolm stood up as they entered, swallowing heavily, unconsciously he reached out and clasped Sam's hand.  
She was pale, and her eyes were wide.  
Fuck, she was frightened, scared of what they were going to say.  
So she thought it was something bad too, and fuck it all, she was trying to put a brave face on it, for his sake.  
Typical Sam.  
Always trying to spare him.  
The doctor cleared his throat,  
"Well, the blood test was fairly conclusive, you are expecting a baby Miss Cassidy, the midwife here, will hopefully be able to tell how far on you are, and we'll do an ultra sound scan."

Sam glanced across at Malcolm, her face a mixture of fear and sorrow. 

Then she laughed.  
"No, I'm sorry doctor, but you've made a mistake. I can't be pregnant. I haven't missed any periods, I've had no symptoms, nothing. You're wrong, and this is really not funny, you've mixed my results up with someone else's."  
"Is this some kind of fucking cruel joke? What the fucks going on?" Malcolm was apoplectic with rage.  
The doctor was quite taken aback.  
"I can assure you Mr........"  
"Don't fucking give me that bullshit. They told us, there was no fucking chance, not after, not after last time.......you've read her fucking medical records surely......?"  
"I have read her case notes, and, as unlikely as it may seem, you are expecting, Miss Cassidy, there's no mistake."  
Sam began to lose control,  
"But I've had a period.....every month......."  
"As you would normally?"  
"Well, no, not quite, not as heavy, but I've been completely up the creek since.....since, since I lost our baby," she shot another glance at Malcolm, whose face was a mask of anguish, "I've been irregular and never quite sure what's happening, the gynae chap said it was to be expected."  
"And have you and Mr Tucker been using any form of birth control?"  
It was true they no longer bothered with contraception, what was the point?  
Neither cared.  
Sam had been convinced the Pill had something to do with her miscarriage, and would never go back to taking it, they both hated using condoms.  
Her doctor at the hospital told her quite categorically that pregnancy for her was a forlorn hope.  
"The bleeding you experienced was probably not menstrual bleeding as such, but a withdrawal bleed. Your blood pressure is a little low, which we think may have contributed to the fainting you've experienced."  
Sam was completely nonplussed, refusing to take it in.  
Malcolm seemed flushed and angry as if it were all a lie, and he was waiting for the real story.  
"But Doctor," she persisted, "last time, I had symptoms....morning sickness, sore boobs, peeing, you name it! I've had nothing. NOTHING AT ALL. I can't possibly be pregnant."  
"A woman doesn't always get classic symptoms Miss Cassidy, it doesn't always follow. Let's have the midwife examine you, and then we'll get a scan. Okay?"  
"The fundus height is showing about three and a half months, maybe four, we'll get a more accurate measurement from the ultrasound."  
"Three and a half to four? So Scotland again then?" Sam whispered, Malcolm, was staring at the wall, lost in thought.  
What was in his head at that moment, was not joy, it was not elation, it was not happiness.  
It was cold unadulterated fear. 

He was silent as the grave as they both watched the screen.  
A blurred image, that little fluttering heartbeat.  
Malcolm turned away.  
He could hardly bear to look.  
Sam was sobbing now, and it bought him back to reality.  
"Sam! Sam! My darling. Don't cry. Please don't cry."  
He leaned over her, ignoring the sonographer and the gel and the all the equipment.  
Pulling her into his arms, kissing her wet face, wrapping himself around her.  
"Mr Tucker.....I........"  
"Oh, fucking give us a break yeah? Can't you see she's upset?"  
"I thought you'd be thrilled......" The woman replied,  
"Yeah? Well you don't know Jackie Fucking Chan about us......so don't give us your opinion okay? Just fucking don't!"  
"Oh! Malcolm! Malcolm! What if it goes wrong again? What if I lose it? I couldn't go through that again. It'd kill me. It'd kill us. What do I do? What the hell CAN I do?"  
She wept bitterly, refusing to relinquish her grip on Malcolm, despite the clinician's efforts to reassure her, replace her hospital gown, wipe the gel from her stomach.  
"Don't go Malc, stay with me please, I need you." She grasped his hand, and held it tight.  
Thoughts of when they'd wheeled her away from him before, popped back into his head, when they took her down to theatre, as their clutching fingers fell away.....  
"We'll be taking you to the gynae ward now, so we can monitor you." The doctor spoke kindly to her.  
"I want Malcolm with me. Please. I don't want to be by myself." Sam was almost hysterical, and Malcolm was anxious for her.  
"I'll stay, I'll sleep in this chair by the bed, if necessary......I'm not going anywhere. Okay?  
Sam?.......Sam!......my Sam........my own! "  
Swinging her legs round, sitting her up, he sat himself down in the armchair bedside her bed, pulled her across his lap, wrapped in a hospital blanket. Just as he had done on the doorstep of a cottage in Scotland, as together they watched the gloaming. Cradling her as if she were a child.  
He laid her head on his shoulder, hushing her. Stroking her hair.  
"Shhh! Sam. It's alright. I'm here."  
Eventually she cried herself to sleep, and Malcolm laid her back in the bed, covered her, kissed her.  
Then went off to find the doctor. 

"Can we have a word?"  
"Of course. Through here."  
He led the way to an empty side room.  
"There are no guarantees are there Doc? That she won't lose it again? Like she did before?"  
"Not really, I'm afraid. There's not really any rhyme or reason to it, a lot of the time. Sometimes there's clearly something amiss, but most times we have no idea why it happens.  
Almost half of all pregnancies, most unrecognised, end in miscarriage, Mr Tucker, and around 15% of recognised ones. Your age might be a factor, but it's not a given, her health, lifestyle, all sorts of reasons. Mostly we just don't know."  
"When I was married......before, we tried, and it didn't happen......I got tested, they said it was because of me, does that mean it's my fucking fault?"  
"Not at all, Mr Tucker, if you previously had a low sperm count, it may now have improved, changes in your diet, or just being more relaxed, may have helped.....after all, you seem to have managed it twice now, quite adequately!"  
"It may have been the hormonal imbalance of the contraceptive pill that caused it.....who knows? You can't apportion blame."  
"She was working really hard before, irregular meals, long hours....."  
"That might have been a factor, it's difficult to say."  
"I'm frightened......fucking scared shitless.....of what it'll do to her doc.....if it happens again......it'll kill her."  
"What about you? ......don't underestimate the effect on yourself, just because you're the father and you're not actually carrying it.....it doesn't lessen the impact."  
"So what can she do? Rest? Plenty of sleep? Good meals? Vitamins? What can I do to help her? What the fuck can we do to increase the odds?"  
"All those things, will help, avoiding alcohol, watching her weight, it's common sense really."  
"The best thing you can do is try to keep her from being anxious.....that won't help her, once you get to a point where the foetus is viable, then perhaps you can relax a little, but if she's anxious it's bad for her."  
"Fuck! How do I do that......? She's fucking terrified, I can see it.....she really wants this kid."  
"Just be there for her, love her, that's all you can do. I'm sorry I can't be of more practical help to you, but there's not really a lot I can say. We'll keep a close eye on her. Scan her regularly, make sure baby's growing properly, and wait, and hope......that's it."  
Malcolm left the room and returned to Sam's bedside.  
She was sleeping still.  
He smoothed her brow with his hand, planted a little kiss there. She stirred slightly and mumbled something he didn't catch.  
Making himself as comfortable as was possible in a plastic covered armchair. He prepared to spend the night.  
Waking the following morning with a chronic stiff neck, and pins and needles in both legs.  
Sam was just coming to.  
Standing up and stretching was a mix of pleasure and pain!  
"Fuck! I'm too old to spent the night in a chair!"  
The nurse entered, and after examining her, and taking observations, announced that she would be allowed home. 

 

oOo

Full length on the couch, feet up, cushions, blanket, cup of tea, TV remote, Vogue magazine.  
Malcolm fretted and fussed.  
"Malcolm, you are not going to be like this for the next five months are you?"  
"What? Fuck off! I'm taking care of you!"  
"And it's lovely, but you're going to stifle me, if you keep this up. I'm not going to break! The doctor said I should carry on pretty much as normal....."  
"You're not lifting a finger.......no heavy lifting, no working, no nothing! Besides, I feel so fucking helpless. It means I'm doing something!"  
"You're doing wonderfully, my darling! But you don't have to mollycoddle me. I can do everything that I normally do. It'll be a bit different this time. I'm not in a stressful situation, nor are you......we're going to be fine. Now come here and give me a cuddle."  
"Fuck! But should we do this?"  
"What? cuddle? I think we're pretty safe there, Malcolm!"  
"You know what I mean.......I can't hurt you, or the baby, can I ?"  
"The doctor said, that it's perfectly okay to have a normal sex life, as long as the bleeding has settled down. You can't hurt me, or the child, in fact, it's supposed to be beneficial!"  
"But I'm afraid, Sam."  
"I'm afraid too......of everything. But I'm going to try my damnedest not to think about it, and stress myself out. It's pointless and it's counterproductive. I'm going to have this baby. I'm going to carry it to full term, and it's going to be alright. I'm determined!"  
"You're a fucking amazing woman !" He snuggled himself next to her on the sofa.  
"I want this so much Sam......I never ever thought I'd be a Dad......when the possibility was taken away from us before, I thought, 'well, that's it then!', but now it's happened a second time, and it's just so un-fucking-likely, something just tells me it's meant to be somehow."  
"It is meant to be. I feel it too. I'm convinced it's something about that cottage! It's good karma, that place, it's going to happen this time Malcolm, I'm sure of it. And you've been so wonderful, I love you so much. You're going to be a great father!"  
Emotion got the better of Malcolm then, and he offered no further comment.


	15. More on my Plate than a Spinster at a Wedding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Holiday Season, Malcolm and Sam are in Scotland......
> 
> Malcolm discovers the dubious delights of Ante-Natal classes.......
> 
> Things are progressing swimmingly.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long chapter, but I had a lot I wanted to convey!   
> We're kinda drawing to the close with this story, as I'm approaching the point at which I wanted to break it off. 
> 
> Oh and there's pregnant sex........!

MORE ON MY PLATE THAN A SPINSTER AT A WEDDING.

How Malcolm got through the next few weeks was a bloody miracle.  
He found himself watching Sam like a hawk.  
Every twinge, every ache, every time she went for a shower, carried the shopping bags into the house from the supermarket or took the hoover upstairs.  
Every time she wanted sex and he was terrified of touching her, whereas before they knew about the pregnancy they went at it hammer and tongs....in blissful ignorance.....as Sam, quite rightly, pointed out to him.  
It was difficult for him to focus on anything.  
He lived a exhausting double life.   
Outwardly he was encouraging, unconcerned, making jokes, relaxed and easy going. Inside he was immersed in a private nerve jangling hell.   
Fearful and nervous, more wired than he'd ever been in his worst moments at Number Ten.

For her part, Sam seemed her calm, serene, normal self.  
Taking everything in her stride.....if she was experiencing inner turmoil, she hid it well.   
But that was Sam, she knew how worried Malcolm was, she'd known him far too long for him to be able to fool her.   
In order to distract him, she actively encouraged him to start thinking seriously about his consultancy business.  
Pushing him gently but firmly, planting a seed and then cleverly making it seem like it was all his own idea.  
By the end of November he had his first clients lined up, and was setting up meetings.   
Sam took on all the duties of a secretary and PA, just as she'd always done.   
Making sure he was fully prepped .....and well organised.   
Malcolm found himself a conveniently placed office, in a Georgian terrace not far from The  
Barbican.  
Brass name plaque on the door, but he refused to move into it after the baby was born.   
For now he'd work from home.   
Word of mouth soon got around, the jungle drums, people knew his name, and his reputation for getting things done, achieving results.   
Tucker was back!  
He had the contacts, could deal with the press, he knew the business, knew the people, commanded respect.  
Memories were short, and no one was much concerned or even mentioned the Goolding Inquiry or any of the bad press Malcolm may have received in the past.  
Yesterday's newspapers were today's chip wrappers.   
No one cared.   
Malcolm Tucker would soon find himself in great demand. 

 

oOo

Christmas was spent in Scotland, staying with Nancy and her family.  
An emotional time for both brother and sister.  
Memories of past Christmases he'd spent with them, always a constant source of heartache to Nancy.  
He, arriving, with a bag of presents, so lonely, solitary, always seeming somehow desolate, mournful and sad, and so tightly wound, a bag of nervous energy, she feared for him constantly.  
This year was quite different.  
The weeks were ticking by, Sam was beginning to show.  
His constant vigilance had worn him thin, despite the distraction of the new business.  
He needed this break. They both did.  
Nancy's face showed real concern when she first beheld him, hugging him tightly to her,   
"Welcome home Big Brother! Happy Christmas!"   
Fraser and Morag, his nephew and niece leaped all over him, excited and happy.   
"Uncle Malc!!"  
"You two just get bigger and bigger.....look at you both!"   
But as the days progressed, he relaxed, calmed, seemed to breathe an inner sigh, and Nancy felt much easier in her mind.   
There were a good number of whispered conversations about him, between her and Sam.  
How thin he'd looked in past years, how tired, how much better he looked now, despite everything.   
She always worried for her sibling, their parents legacy weighed heavily on them both.  
Each determined that their own lives would be different......better.   
Whole, not broken.   
Sam learned more of Malcolm in that holiday week too.  
His infinite patience with the children was quite a revelation, he would sit on the floor playing board games with them for hours.   
They were bright kids, but he would brook no cheating or shenanigans, winning and losing were part of life, and sometimes we achieve the one and sometimes the other. Whatever the result, you took it on the chin, got on with it, that was his philosophy.  
As he gradually unwound, so they talked together, he and Nance, about their childhood mainly, Sam could see where it all came from, Nancy and Malcolm were alike in so many ways.   
Fiercely intelligent, determined, driven, but soft inside, and capable of complete devotion.  
On Boxing Day she accidentally stumbled into overhearing a conversation between Malcolm and his niece and nephew, during a highly competitive game of Monopoly.   
It affected her very deeply......

"Mam says Sam has a baby in her tummy."   
"She has." Malcolm threw the dice.   
"Mam says we're not to talk about it......why Uncle Malc?"   
"I'm not sure.....maybe your mam thinks it's too private." He moved his counter, a little dog,   
"Oxford Street, I own it."   
"Is Sam your girlfriend Uncle Malc?"  
"Yep, she is. Come on.....your throw."   
"Do you want a baby boy or a girl?"   
"I don't care. We'll love it whatever it is! We just want it to be okay."   
"Might it not be okay then? Liverpool Street Station. I'm buying that!"   
"Well, we were unlucky before, so we're hoping for better luck this time around. £200 for passing Go, please!"   
"Mam said you lost your baby......why did you lose it? She said I wasn't to say anything."  
"We don't know why Hen, I guess it was just too beautiful to live, so God decided to take it. You owe me, you landed on my property......£100 please......cough up!"   
Sam leaned against the door post, quietly, tears coursing down her cheeks. Nancy creeping up behind her, her hands resting on Sam's shoulders, listening too.  
" I don't believe in God. He's not very nice, not if he took away your baby."   
"I don't believe in him either, but there you go......it's just an expression, just an idea. Doesn't make it wrong, or untrue. Your throw, Fraser."  
"God won't take your baby this time will he Uncle Malc? You and Sam.....you'll be lucky this time, yeah?"   
"I hope so Hen. Each week that passes is a good week. So we just keep on keeping on.....and that's all we can do. Hey.....Community Chest.....I've won £10 in a beauty contest.....that's a cruel joke!"   
"You love Sam, don't you? Like Mam loves Da?"  
"I love her to bits, and I'll love our baby to bits too. I always wanted to be a Dad. Never thought it would happen!"   
"Is that because your wife was a cow? Mam says that 'bloody woman got her claws into you' and she was a cow?"   
Malcolm chuckled, and moved his counter eight spaces.  
"That's what Mam says is it? Well, I'll have to agree with her on that one, I guess. But I don't think you should repeat everything Mam says, Morag......some things are best left unsaid."   
"Sam's not a cow though.......she's lovely. Me and Fraser think she's the nicest lady, and we saw you kissing her......Fraser says its gross, but you were REALLY kissing her Uncle Malc, and I thought it was lovely, because you love her, and you kissed her like they do in the movies.....it's romantic! Here's your rent for The Angel Islington, I landed on it, it's yours.....Fraser......I won't tell you next time, if you don't notice!"   
"Sorry.....! Well it IS gross....you were both out in the back garden, it was like you were sucking her face!"   
"Mam said its made you young again.....being with Sam......but you're not that old are you Unc?"  
"Sounds like your Mam has said a lot of things.....I think I need to have a quiet word with her! I want to put a house on Leicester Square, come on, pass it over......here's my dosh!"   
"Don't have a word with her! Please Uncle! We'll get into trouble. She was talking about you and Grandad. She said you'd never be a Da like he was."  
"No. Well. I won't be. But I don't wanna talk about Grandad, Fraser, he died before you were born, and he was nae a very nice person. Me and your Mam had a tough time. My kid, isn't gonna be like me and your grandad were. My kid will be loved."   
"Didn't your Da love you then? I've thrown a six......I'm going to jail.......drat it!"   
"Morag......sometimes adults are idiots yeah? If they tell you they know everything, then they're liars! They don't! They don't know how to show their feelings, and instead of learning, they just pile a load of expectation and guilt onto themselves and their kids.....that's what grandad was like, nothing I did was ever good enough. He did love us, but he didn't know how to show it, he was cruel and angry with the world. And he was ill too. Use your 'get out of jail free card', dumbo!"   
"Mam told me he was horrible to you.....he used to hit you."  
Malcolm's expression clouded, Sam could see the pain gathering behind his eyes.   
"Fraser! Wake up....it's your throw again. Look Morag, I don't want to talk about it.....okay? It's painful and it makes me sad. It's Christmas and I don't want to think about sad things. Your Mam shouldn't have told you those things, it wasn't her place to share them......when you're older, maybe I'LL tell you, but not right now.....it's not the time or the place, now drop it......okay?"   
"I'm sorry Uncle Malc, don't be angry. I didn't mean to make you sad. I'm glad you've got Sam and you're going to have a baby, that's happy news isn't it? When your baby comes, can you bring it here, so we can see it? It'll be our cousin."  
"Of course we will. Me and Sam, we'll come and stay, and then you'll be able to meet him or her."   
"What are you going to call it?"   
"Hmmmmm! Well.....if it's a boy......I thought, Cadwallader.......and if it's a girl, Grizelda......how about that?"   
The children both hooted with laughter.  
"You're funny Uncle Malc!"   
Sam turned herself into Nancy's embrace and the two women hugged each other. 

oOo

They saw in the New Year together, just the two of them.   
Sam's belly continued to grow at the expected rate, another scan confirmed all was progressing normally.   
Malcolm's anxiety began to ebb away.  
He felt the most immediate danger was behind them. 

"Malcolm, I have an appointment through to attend ante-natal classes......the letter says the father is welcome!"   
"Fuck! Will there be other men there? I don't want to be the only one!"   
"I'm sure there will be. Do you want to come?"   
"What does it involve?.......I don't want to look like a cunt. They'll probably think I'm the kids grandad, I'll be tons older than all the other dads-to-be!"   
"I think it's basically telling you what to expect, and what you can do to help me.....in labour, that sort of thing! As for your age.....I don't give a monkeys what anyone thinks."   
"Okay, I'll come then. Fuck.....this'll be good! A load of women laying about like beached whales! Can't wait!" 

Malcolm wasn't the only man at the class, but as he expected, he was certainly the oldest, and looking round at some of them, Malcolm feared greatly for the safe continuation of the human species.   
No one said a word, but he saw their glances, and shifted uncomfortably, flashed a few of them his old tried and tested toothy 'you're a wanker' smile.  
He listened to the pep talk, from the midwife.....labour, signs and symptoms, the stages of birth, a short film and a point presentation.   
His face betraying a wry smile at the twee-ness of it all, and how squeamish some of the young guys seemed to be.   
Changing the nappy on a baby doll, that, quite frankly, looked like an extra from E.T. made him hiss under his breath to Sam,  
"It's difficult to tell which end is which, this fucking plastic baby looks like Julius Nicholson! In fact, no.....I take that back, Julius is better looking!"   
When it came to sitting down onto a yoga mat to practice breathing exercises, Sam thought Malcolm would actually spontaneously combust.  
Seated on the floor, his legs apart, her leaning back onto his chest, his hands around her stomach, as she focused on her breathing and panting, through pretend contractions.   
"I feel like a complete. fucking. tit." He whispered into her ear.   
Sam began to giggle.  
"Malcolm, hush......people can hear you!" 

Later, the discussion with the midwife inevitably turned to what type of birth she might opt for.   
Sam wanted a home birth, in a birthing pool, it was only very recently that she'd actually allowed herself the luxury of thinking about the birth at all.   
Shutting it out, taking one day at a time, until she felt fairly certain the risk of losing the baby was passed.   
Now it was becoming more of a reality.   
Malcolm was not wholly convinced.....he wanted hospital.....doctors on standby.....the whole might of the Health Service at his beck and call, should something go amiss.....but Sam would not be dissuaded. 

 

oOo

It was snowing heavily.   
Everywhere seemed blanketed, muffled and quiet.   
Late in the evening.   
Dark and cold outside.   
Sam was propped up against the head board, finishing her cocoa, Malcolm's speciality, with marshmallows floating on the top.   
For his entertainment that evening, and amid Sam's shrieks of laughter, he lay at her side, propped up on one elbow, carefully balancing a marshmallow on top of her pregnant stomach, then whooping when the baby kicked and it fell off.   
He had become endlessly fascinated by her changing body.   
The roundness of her stomach, the undulations as his child moved within.   
His favourite occupation of the moment was massaging her bump with her stretch mark cream. Moving his hands across her, gently smoothing his long fingers over her increasingly taut skin.   
Putting his ear against her, listening, delighting in the movement, when he spoke, his mouth close to her, so that the child wriggled at the sound of his voice.  
"See that?" He cried, incredulous. "It heard me......that's amazing!"   
Her belly button now protruding slightly, Sam rubbed a soothing hand across herself,  
"It recognises the sound......it's the timbre of your tone, and your accent!" She smiled.   
"Does it hurt? When it moves like that?"   
"No, it's not painful, but it is weird, sometimes I can actually feel a tiny foot!"  
His hands moved up to her breasts, stroking them, caressing them.  
"Fuck, Sam, your boobs look amazing, I love them, your body is so fucking beautiful, you look so wonderful like this......"  
"What fat and pendulous?!! You're mad Malcolm."   
He bent and placed kisses over them, his tongue flicking on her darkened nipple.   
"You're not fat, and your breasts are the most beautiful things ever, you're more attractive to me now than you've ever been."  
Her arms pulled him in closer, their lips pressing together hungrily.   
"Fuck, and you're just so hot! It turns me on! The sight and feel of you, everything, Jesus!"   
They kissed deeply, his tongue, seeking entrance, the touch of it against her teeth, teasing apart her lips for him to thrust inside her willing mouth.   
"Fuck....Sam....." he broke away, " touch me yeah.....want it so bad......"  
"You're going to have to be a bit inventive Malcolm," she whispered, "you can't get on top of me.....my bump is just too big now......but God.....I want to feel you inside me......I'm out of my mind........the slightest touch and I'll just come.....I won't be able to stop it......I think it's the extra blood flow down there......I'm constantly burning for it!"   
"Only too happy to oblige....on your hands and knees woman!!"  
She knelt up on all fours, doggy style and Malcolm entered her slowly, from behind, his hands on her hips steadying her,   
She gasped at the sensation,  
"OH FUCK! Malcolm.......yes......yes.......just do that......oh my god!!"  
His hand snaked around the front of her, those long fingers circling her clit, as he moved gently in and out of her, groaning with each sensual push.  
"I'm gonna come quickly Sam.......fuck, but this is fucking amazing.....can't last........holy FUCK!"  
His head rested down against her back, his hands still on her stomach, as her own orgasm faded.   
The baby jumping hoops inside her, he could feel every movement.......  
"That's woken him or her up!!"  
"It's doing somersaults in there!!"

Afterwards they showered together, standing long under the running water, just holding each other, he rubbing her stomach tenderly, as she leaned against him.   
Malcolm then spent a fun half an hour with a set of headphones, as Sam lay back on the bed, her belly exposed, he playing music to her bump!  
His conclusions?  
His baby liked Big Country and Bowie.  
Not so keen on punk or Kanye......but liked Mozart and Jazz!   
Sam called a halt to it eventually.  
"Come on Malcolm.....enough! I'm tired and so is baby! Sleep time!"   
Malcolm kissed her, curled himself into the arch of her back as she turned on her side, a pillow between her knees. His head against shoulder blades. One arm across her body, hand resting on her tummy.   
He gave a contented sigh.   
"I'll never forget this time Sam.....never. As long as I live. Feeling my child inside you, I get emotional every time I think about it!"  
"I know Malc......me too." She replied sleepily.   
Minutes later they were both slumbering peacefully.


	16. Two Shakes of a Crying Baby.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day is here......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter.
> 
> I didn't really think when I wrote the prompt that it would be quite the ride it's been.
> 
> This story has had more hits and more feedback than anything I've written before.   
> So I want to say a huge thank you to the readers who've given kudos and sent me wonderful comments.  
> Your words are a great encouragement and help enormously so thank you each and every one of you. It is truly appreciated.

TWO SHAKES OF A CRYING BABY. 

It was a dismal rainy morning when baby Tucker decided that this would be the day for his or her entrance into the world.  
Sam woke early and knew straight away.  
Malcolm was curled beside her, snoring fitfully.  
"Malcolm!" She gently nudged him, he slowly came to.   
"I think today is the day you're going to meet your baby." She whispered.   
His eyes snapped open......hands running through his mop of grey hair, as he reentered the world of the living.   
He sleepily placed his head against her stomach.  
"Hello little one! Don't give your mother too hard a time now!"   
He stroked his hands across her, feeling the movement and a slight tightening, as he did so.  
"Was that a contraction?"  
"I think it was......not too painful, a bit like a dull ache.....no doubt it'll get much worse."   
Malcolm was calm and serene.....no panic, no fuss.   
He was going to do this, and he was going to do it right.   
He yawned and stretched himself.  
"I'll make some tea.....want some?"   
"Mmm mmm."  
Reaching for boxers, he ambled off downstairs to put the kettle on.  
By the time he returned, Sam had waddled her way into the bathroom, where her waters broke......spectacularly.   
"Malcolm! I may just require your assistance! " came the plaintive cry.   
His face broke into a grin as he beheld her.....seated on the toilet, swimming in amniotic fluid, the bathroom floor awash!  
"Well at least it happened in here! I'll fetch a cloth and a bucket......and a mop."   
"And ring the midwife.....let her know!" Sam called to his retreating back. 

oOo

Sam met pain management with the same matter of fact mental attitude with which she tackled everything, head on.   
She paced.   
Walking helped, laying and sitting didn't.   
Every so often, stopping, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter or a dining chair as the next flood of spasms hit her.  
Breaths in. Breaths out. Riding it out.   
The severity increased steadily, but she coped with it, by measured breathing, relaxing as much as possible, and by Malcolm massaging across the small of her back each time, as it seemed to help.   
Eventually kneeling, in the warm water of the birthing pool.   
Leaning on him, as he knelt on the carpet at the side, her arms across his shoulders, supporting some of her weight, as each brick wall of cramps rippled through her, and then subsided.   
Malcolm really felt pretty helpless, seeing the person he loved so much, going through such agony, it was not part of his remit, and as the intensity strengthened, he found it harder to watch her.  
The contractions were coming every few minutes now, the midwife was fantastic, but Malcolm wanted to do more.  
"I suggest you get undressed, put on some swimming trunks, and get into the water with her........then you can support Sam, hold her, massage her, and ease her through each pain."   
So that's just what he did.   
She knelt up, leaning against the side of the pool, and the midwife's forearms. While Malcolm knelt behind her, his arms around the front of her, holding her up, rubbing her stomach and back through each fresh contraction.  
Then she could sit back into him, between his legs, resting against his chest, in between each wave, to recover herself, while he spoke softly to her, his lips close to her ear, as her head rested back next to his.   
"You're doing so great. And you're almost there. And I fucking love you, you amazing woman!"  
She groaned, as the next strong twinges assaulted her body.   
"Here comes another one......they're really close now."   
She gasped, as his fingers drifted across her stomach, circling gently. She was too tired and the pain too strong for her to kneel now.   
He took her weight, against his chest, bringing a hand up to her forehead, smoothing back her damp hair, as her head lolled back, resting on his shoulder.   
"It's bad Malcolm!" She murmured.   
"Just a little while longer, and it'll be over. Don't give up now, you're doing so fantastically well."

Contractions now melded one into one another, with barely a gap between, for her to recuperate.   
Malcolm held her up, taking her weight once more, as yet another wave stabbed.  
"I can feel the head.....it's coming."   
Sam threw back her head, with a cry.   
"Malcolm! Hold on to me.....it's coming, I can feel it."   
Tears broke from her, as a final surge and gush of blood sullied the water around her. 

From under the water, Malcolm , watched wide eyed, in complete awe, as first the head of his child, then the body emerged, floating up, eyes open, still attached to the placenta by the umbilical chord.   
The midwife eased her out into the air, and into Sam's waiting arms.   
Malcolm leaning over her shoulder, his arms around both of them, still supporting her, as he looked down into the tiny crinkled face, held against Sam's damp breast.   
"It's a little girl. Congratulations both of you, you have a perfect baby daughter."  
A whimpering mewling sound came from the small infant, as Sam cradled her, looking down into her face and then up at Malcolm.   
She rested her cheek against his and the euphoria of the moment overwhelmed both of them.   
"Look what you've done! You're so fucking wonderful. Look what you've given me. Oh Sam, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And she's ours. I can't comprehend it. I just can't."   
He wept openly, silently, sniffing and blubbing.   
Completely lost in the deepest love imaginable.   
That of a man for his own child.   
The midwife took her from Sam, passed her to her father, smiling,  
"You cradle your little girl Malcolm, while I take care of Sam and the afterbirth. Okay?"  
Malcolm held the tiny naked body to his bare chest, marvelling over the minuscule finger nails, little toes, the shock of dark hair, and the blue eyes.   
A rosebud mouth and button nose, every inch of her perfect, in every way.   
A miracle.  
The chord cut and clamped, he stepped out of the pool onto the plastic sheet.  
Sat down on the floor and just stared at this small person, that was all his.  
His daughter.   
Glancing back at Sam still sitting in the water, the placenta delivered now, but still breathing heavily from the effort of the labour, the hours of pain, exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure.   
Their eyes met, and Sam smiled at him and mouthed, 'I love you Malcolm'. 

oOo

An hour later, Sam was sitting up in bed, resting, Malcolm having helped her to shower and brought her hot tea and toast.  
Warm, dry and comfortable, tired but blissfully happy.  
The pool in the middle of their lounge downstairs, which now resembled a kind of fetid borscht, and which, frankly did not bear looking at, was being cleared away.   
Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed.   
Gazing adoringly at both the new mother and her offspring, with nothing short of veneration.   
The wee girl, on its mother's breast for the first time, suckling noisily.   
"What shall we call her?"   
"I was thinking about Eve. Or maybe Evie? Then Nancy as a second name? What do you think?" She replied sleepily.   
Sam passed the tiny bundle to her new Dad, now content and sleeping peacefully.   
"Eve. I like it. Do you hear that, little mite? Your name is Eve. And I'm your Da. The fucking happiest man on this planet right now!"  
He bent and kissed the little forehead tenderly. 

Never in all the pox ridden days working at Number Ten or in opposition had he ever dared to imagine a day such as this.  
Even when he looked back to the conference in Washington, which had been the affirmation of an affection, an admiration that he'd held, probably for years, but would never have actually acted upon, had it not been for a delayed flight and a single hotel room.  
Fate.  
It was almost beyond belief.   
All they'd been through, together, since that momentous event, all culminating in this precious gift.   
Cradling his newborn baby daughter.   
This thing he never thought he'd have, never thought to ever experience the joy of parenthood.  
A closed book when his wife divorced him, a dream he'd shut away, filed with the other lost causes of his life.......  
......like finding love, facing his past, building a meaningful relationship, working to live, not living to work, and so many other things he'd only really dreamed of.   
Yet here he was.....blessed.   
With both a woman whom he loved more than life itself, and who loved him in return, and now this.  
The ultimate prize.   
Malcolm was truly a happy man.   
Sam smiled fondly at him, as he cooed at his daughter, speaking lowly, his voice a rumble in his throat.  
So long, she'd loved him.  
Longer than she could rightly remember.  
When she first worked for him, saw what he tried so desperately to hide.  
How vulnerable he was, how deep.  
So tightly wound.   
But looking at him now, as he held the tiny fingers, clutched around his own elegant digit, tears in his eyes.   
Emotion and incredulity.  
She'd managed to give him everything he most craved, what he'd almost given up on.......a future.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @mistresserably and @misswinterseat hope you like my version....there's more to come!! Xxx


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